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In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled group were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, fine libations and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the time came for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it was my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to queue in a public line simply for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A handy metric for any advanced society would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Returning to my line, I tried to initiate some friendly chat going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Ah, this is an irksome variation, right boys?”

A fellow smiled, another appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a place. A couple more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A female glided out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t blame her.