🔗 Share this article

Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an unusual incident. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not pertinent. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Good fare, fine beverages and unexpectedly amusing stories about oral health. Inevitably, the time arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s only at the sinks later that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a public line merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A handy measure for any modern culture would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Back in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “So, this is an irksome difference, right chaps?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a spot. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A female emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not blame her.