🔗 Share this article

Just before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable episode. I feel it did me good. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The present crowd were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was had by all. Nice food, good libations and surprisingly amusing stories about oral health. Naturally, the point came for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the women breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A useful measure for any civilised culture would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

During my time in my line, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “So, this is an irksome difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow smiled, a second appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. Someone came out, zipping up. The group advanced a place. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A female glided out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly could not fault her.