🔗 Share this article

Just before the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The attending party were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Nice food, nice beverages and remarkably humorous tales about dentistry. As expected, the moment dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a public line merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A valuable measure for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Back in my wait, I tried to get some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it lads?”

One person chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a place. Another two men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.