🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to the festive season, I had an extraordinary situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The present party were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The location was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, fine drink and unexpectedly humorous stories about dentistry. Naturally, the time arrived for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a public line simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

Returning to my wait, I attempted to get some friendly chat flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an irksome variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a spot. Two more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not fault her.