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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an unusual situation. I believe it did me good. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't important. The assembled crowd were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, good libations and surprisingly amusing stories about dentistry. Naturally, the time dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the women glide through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a public line only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter inequity of it. A valuable measure for any civilised community would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Well, this makes an disagreeable variation, isn't it boys?”

Someone grinned, another appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Exchange

A female wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not blame her.