🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to Christmas, I had an remarkable situation. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Nice food, fine beverages and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the time came for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a common queue merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful measure for any modern culture would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

Back in my queue, I attempted to get some friendly chat started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “So, this makes an irksome change, right chaps?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence ensued. Someone emerged, zipping up. The group shuffled up a spot. Two more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A female emerged out of the next-door facility, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not fault her.