🔗 Share this article

Just before the festive season, I had an unusual situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't relevant. The present party were solely men, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Good cuisine, fine libations and unexpectedly humorous tales about dentistry. As expected, the moment came for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I observed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the portal while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a public line merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my line, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter started about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable change, doesn’t it boys?”

One person smiled, someone else looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. Someone emerged, zipping up. The queue advanced a spot. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Interaction

A female emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.