🔗 Share this article

Just before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The assembled party were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A lost afternoon was had by all. Nice fare, good drink and unexpectedly entertaining tales about oral health. As expected, the time came for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A useful metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I tried to get some friendly chat flowing about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a position. A couple more men entered the end of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t fault her.