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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an unusual incident. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The attending crowd were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Nice cuisine, good drink and unexpectedly entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the moment arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is restricted to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a public line simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful metric for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an irksome variation, doesn’t it lads?”

One person smiled, a second appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a position. Another two men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A lady wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not fault her.