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Just before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable situation. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not pertinent. The assembled crowd were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice beverages and surprisingly humorous tales about oral health. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it was my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based communication is confined to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins later that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a shared procession simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy metric for any advanced society would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Back in my wait, I tried to spark some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable change, right boys?”

Someone grinned, a second looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a place. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman glided out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really would not blame her.