🔗 Share this article

Just before the festive season, I experienced an unusual incident. I think it did me good. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not relevant. The present crowd were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted session was had by all. Good food, good drink and remarkably humorous anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the moment dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is limited to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A handy metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to get some male camaraderie flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “So, this makes an irksome difference, right boys?”

Someone chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence reigned. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a spot. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A female glided out of the next-door facility, all fresh and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.