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Shortly before the holidays, I had an extraordinary incident. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not pertinent. The assembled party were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Fine fare, fine drink and surprisingly entertaining tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A handy measure for any civilised culture would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

Back in my wait, I attempted to get some friendly chat going about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this makes an irksome variation, right lads?”

Someone smiled, another looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. An individual emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. Another two men entered the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not censure her.