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In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an remarkable episode. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled group were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted session was had by all. Fine fare, nice drink and unexpectedly entertaining tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, looked to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the washbasins later that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

Returning to my line, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat going about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “So, this makes an disagreeable variation, isn't it boys?”

Someone chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence reigned. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a position. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not blame her.