🔗 Share this article

Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an remarkable episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not relevant. The attending group were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, good libations and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the moment dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the women breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is limited to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a common queue simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

Back in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A lady emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not censure her.