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Just before Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't important. The assembled group were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, nice beverages and remarkably humorous anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to queue in a common queue only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A handy measure for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I tried to spark some brotherly banter started about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an irksome variation, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady wafted out of the adjacent facility, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not blame her.