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In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not relevant. The present group were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Good food, nice beverages and remarkably entertaining tales about dentistry. Inevitably, the point dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women glide through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is confined to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s only at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable metric for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

Someone smiled, someone else looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness ensued. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a position. A couple more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman wafted out of the next-door restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I may give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not blame her.