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Just before the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not important. The present crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, fine beverages and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the point arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women breeze through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a common queue only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A valuable measure for any advanced society would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat started about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this is an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone chuckled, a second appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet reigned. A man came out, zipping up. The line shuffled up a spot. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A lady wafted out of the next-door restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.