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Shortly before Christmas, I had an unusual episode. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not pertinent. The present crowd were exclusively male, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Good food, good libations and remarkably humorous tales about dentistry. Naturally, the point arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space 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 knew.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my mates, angling away at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing small talk and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is confined to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A handy metric for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Back in my queue, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

A fellow grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a place. Another two men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.