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Just before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable episode. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled group were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A lost session was had by all. Nice fare, good libations and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the point came for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based communication is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the sinks later that chat tends to begin.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a shared procession only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable metric for any advanced culture would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Banter in the Line

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to get some male camaraderie started about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an disagreeable change, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow smiled, a second looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone exited, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a spot. A couple more men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t blame her.