🔗 Share this article

Just before the holidays, I had an extraordinary situation. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The attending group were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A wasted session was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, nice drink and remarkably entertaining stories about dentistry. As expected, the time dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I attempted to get some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Well, this represents an disagreeable change, isn't it boys?”

A fellow grinned, a second looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, stillness ensued. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a place. Two more men entered the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady wafted out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to express recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

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