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Just before Christmas, I had an unusual episode. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not relevant. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was had by all. Nice cuisine, fine drink and remarkably entertaining stories about dentistry. Naturally, the moment arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a public line only for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful measure for any civilised culture would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant difference, right lads?”

A fellow chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was a further example of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a place. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A female glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not blame her.