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Just before the holidays, I experienced an unusual episode. I think it did me good. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The present party were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Good cuisine, fine libations and surprisingly humorous tales about dentistry. Naturally, the moment dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, seemed to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on both small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a shared procession simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable variation, isn't it lads?”

Someone smiled, another looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet prevailed. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a spot. Another two men joined the end of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not censure her.