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Shortly before Christmas, I had an remarkable episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not relevant. The attending party were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Nice food, good beverages and remarkably humorous anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the time arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s only at the washbasins later that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a public line only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable measure for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat started about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “So, this makes an irksome variation, right lads?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a spot. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A female emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not fault her.