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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The attending group were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Situation

The location was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Fine food, good drink and remarkably humorous stories about teeth. Naturally, the time dawned for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

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

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s only at the washbasins later that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a common queue only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A valuable measure for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant difference, right boys?”

One person grinned, another looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another example of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a position. Another two men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Interaction

A lady glided out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not censure her.