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Just before Christmas, I had an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not important. The present group were solely men, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, fine beverages and remarkably humorous tales about teeth. Inevitably, the moment came for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a public line simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Back in my line, I tried to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “So, this is an disagreeable change, isn't it boys?”

A fellow grinned, another looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a place. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to communicate recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.