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Shortly before Christmas, I experienced an unusual incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The assembled party were all blokes, which proves to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was had by all. Good food, fine libations and surprisingly humorous tales about teeth. As expected, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I seen women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women glide through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on either niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue merely for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this makes an unpleasant variation, isn't it chaps?”

One person smiled, another looked blank, a third seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A female wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not fault her.