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Shortly before the holidays, I had an extraordinary incident. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The present crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, good libations and remarkably humorous stories about teeth. Naturally, the time dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks later that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a public line merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any advanced society would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

Back in my queue, I tried to get some friendly chat flowing about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant change, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a position. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A lady emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I really would not fault her.