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Just before the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not important. The assembled group were all blokes, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Nice food, good drink and unexpectedly entertaining stories about oral health. Inevitably, the moment dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, 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.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on either small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a public line only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this is an irksome variation, isn't it lads?”

A fellow grinned, another looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. Someone came out, zipping up. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A lady emerged out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.