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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an unusual incident. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not important. The present group were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, nice drink and unexpectedly humorous stories about oral health. Inevitably, the point dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

Returning to my line, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an irksome change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. Someone exited, zipping up. The group advanced a spot. Two more men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to express recognition of this reversed situation. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not fault her.