🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to Christmas, I had an unusual incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, fine drink and surprisingly entertaining stories about oral health. As expected, the moment came for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line 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 the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Females, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on either niceties or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful metric for any advanced society would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat flowing about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant variation, isn't it lads?”

Someone smiled, another looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was yet another example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a place. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman glided out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t censure her.