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In the run-up to Christmas, I had an remarkable episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The present group were solely men, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, fine drink and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the point came for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that chat tends to break out.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a common queue merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A valuable metric for any modern society would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

Someone chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. A man emerged, zipping up. The group moved forward a position. Another two men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A lady emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not fault her.