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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an unusual incident. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled group were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Scenario

The location was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was had by all. Nice food, fine drink and unexpectedly amusing tales about oral health. Naturally, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the women glide through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a shared procession only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A handy measure for any modern society would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

Back in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter started about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Well, this represents an disagreeable change, right boys?”

Someone chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. Someone came out, zipping up. The group shuffled up a spot. Another two men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this reversed situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not blame her.