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Shortly before the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The present party were exclusively male, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was had by all. Nice fare, nice libations and unexpectedly humorous tales about oral health. Naturally, the moment dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is confined to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a shared procession only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any modern society would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie started about this novel circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

Someone grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a spot. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not fault her.