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Just before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary incident. I think it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Fine food, good beverages and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the moment dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that chat tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on both small talk or quiet. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A handy measure for any modern culture would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Returning to my queue, I tried to initiate some friendly chat going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Well, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. A man exited, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. Another two men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady glided out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t fault her.