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In the run-up to the festive season, I had an remarkable episode. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not important. The present party were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, fine beverages and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the point arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it was me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the women breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either niceties or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern community would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat flowing about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “Well, this is an irksome change, isn't it chaps?”

One person smiled, someone else appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman emerged out of the next-door facility, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not fault her.