🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an unusual situation. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't important. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a tavern doing a brisk business. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, good drink and unexpectedly amusing tales about teeth. As expected, the point arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the sinks later that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a public line merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A valuable metric for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness ensued. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a spot. Another two men entered the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman glided out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I could give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not blame her.