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In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an remarkable episode. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't important. The attending party were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a brisk business. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, fine libations and surprisingly amusing tales about teeth. Naturally, the point came for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I observed women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a shared procession simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Returning to my queue, I attempted to get some friendly chat started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Well, this represents an disagreeable difference, right chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. Someone came out, zipping up. The group shuffled up a place. Two more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A woman glided out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.