🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to Christmas, I had an extraordinary incident. I feel it did me good. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The assembled group were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, fine drink and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the point arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women glide through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is confined to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a common queue only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced community would be gender parity in wee queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Ah, this is an disagreeable change, right chaps?”

Someone smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a spot. Another two men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to express recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.