🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I believe it did me good. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not important. The present group were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, good beverages and remarkably humorous stories about dentistry. Naturally, the moment dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it was my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting 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 hint of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my mates, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a public line simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable measure for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I attempted to get some male camaraderie going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

Someone smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. An individual exited, zipping up. The line advanced a position. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman emerged out of the next-door facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not blame her.