🔗 Share this article

Just before the holidays, I encountered an unusual incident. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not relevant. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which is key.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Good fare, fine libations and surprisingly amusing tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be away a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the ladies' room, 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 were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the rare weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A handy measure for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie going about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

Someone grinned, a second looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a spot. Another two men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.