🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an unusual incident. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The present group were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, good beverages and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. As expected, the point dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line 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 wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, angling away at something we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Women, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a common queue merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any modern community would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I tried to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable variation, isn't it boys?”

One person grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet prevailed. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a spot. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A female glided out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this reversed scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not censure her.