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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not important. The present group were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A lost session was shared by the group. Nice food, good libations and remarkably humorous stories about teeth. As expected, the moment dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a shared procession simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A useful measure for any modern culture would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

During my time in my line, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Well, this is an unpleasant difference, right lads?”

Someone smiled, someone else appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a position. A couple more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A lady glided out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, attempting to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not blame her.