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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable incident. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not relevant. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, nice libations and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment arrived for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I observed women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A valuable metric for any modern society would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Well, this is an irksome variation, right lads?”

A fellow grinned, someone else looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. An individual exited, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a position. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female emerged out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.