There was the struggle to make chitchat, a whiff of humiliation – and a sobering recognition of what women have to put up with
I
had an unusual experience just before Christmas. I think it did me good. This was at a gathering of some old friends of mine, a group of dentists as it happens, but’s that’s not relevant. The assembled were all blokes, which is relevant. This was at a pub/restaurant that was doing a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was had by all. Nice food, nice drink and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about teeth. Naturally enough, the time came for visits to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been so, but when it came to my turn all became clear. I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue recognised.
For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing? Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.
