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Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't relevant. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Good food, fine beverages and remarkably entertaining tales about oral health. As expected, the point arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue 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 queue knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the sinks later that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a common queue only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure injustice of it. A useful measure for any civilised culture would be gender parity in wee queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a place. Two more men joined the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A lady glided out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not censure her.