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Just before the holidays, I had an unusual situation. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled party were all blokes, which is relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Fine fare, good beverages and remarkably entertaining stories about oral health. Inevitably, the time dawned for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is confined to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a shared procession only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable metric for any civilised community would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Male Chat in the Procession

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable variation, isn't it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, another looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a place. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady wafted out of the next-door toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not fault her.