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In the run-up to Christmas, I had an unusual episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not relevant. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, nice drink and remarkably humorous anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting 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 gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in queue with my companions, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s only at the sinks later that chat tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a shared procession simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A useful metric for any advanced society would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my queue, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow smiled, someone else looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. Someone emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Exchange

A woman wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not censure her.