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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an unusual episode. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The present party were exclusively male, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A wasted session was had by all. Nice fare, nice drink and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the time dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the women breeze through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a public line merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A valuable measure for any advanced community would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome variation, right chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a position. A couple more men entered the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman glided out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not fault her.