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Just before Christmas, I had an unusual situation. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The attending crowd were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A wasted session was had by all. Good cuisine, nice beverages and remarkably entertaining tales about dentistry. Naturally, the time arrived for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my companions, angling away at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any advanced culture would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an irksome difference, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, another appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. A man emerged, zipping up. The line advanced a position. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A female glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.