🔗 Share this article

Just before the holidays, I encountered an unusual situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Good fare, nice beverages and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment came for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in small talk and an interesting comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s only at the washbasins later that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised society would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter going about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “So, this is an irksome change, right boys?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. Someone exited, zipping up. The line advanced a position. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A lady glided out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.