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In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an unusual incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which is significant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, good drink and surprisingly amusing stories about oral health. Naturally, the point arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it became my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the sinks later that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a public line only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A useful metric for any modern community would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Ah, this is an irksome variation, isn't it lads?”

Someone smiled, someone else looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. A man came out, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a spot. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Interaction

A lady wafted out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this reversed situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t blame her.