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Just before Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I feel it did me good. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not important. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Good cuisine, nice beverages and unexpectedly amusing tales about oral health. Inevitably, the point came for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a shared procession only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised community would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Banter in the Line

Back in my queue, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie going about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a spot. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A female emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not censure her.