🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an remarkable incident. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The assembled party were all blokes, which is significant.

A Novel Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, fine beverages and unexpectedly entertaining stories about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to stand in a public line merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A handy metric for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

Back in my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “So, this represents an unpleasant variation, right chaps?”

Someone smiled, another appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a spot. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman glided out of the adjacent facility, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.