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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an unusual situation. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't important. The attending crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, fine drink and surprisingly humorous tales about teeth. As expected, the point arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is limited to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a shared procession only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern society would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

During my time in my wait, I tried to get some friendly chat flowing about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an irksome variation, isn't it lads?”

Someone grinned, someone else appeared confused, a other man looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a place. Another two men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A woman wafted out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to express an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not censure her.