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Just before the holidays, I experienced an remarkable incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was had by all. Nice fare, fine libations and unexpectedly entertaining tales about oral health. Inevitably, the point arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I seen women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is confined to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced society would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching data on this.

Male Banter in the Line

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something along the lines of: “So, this represents an irksome change, right boys?”

A fellow grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. Someone emerged, zipping up. The line shuffled up a spot. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not censure her.