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Just before Christmas, I had an extraordinary episode. I feel it did me good. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't important. The assembled group were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, good beverages and unexpectedly humorous tales about dentistry. Naturally, the moment dawned for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my mates, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a common queue merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A useful measure for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this represents an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

One person smiled, another appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a place. Two more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I could give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really could not censure her.