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In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary incident. I feel it did me good. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The attending party were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A lost daytime was had by all. Fine cuisine, fine libations and surprisingly humorous tales about dentistry. As expected, the point came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s only at the sinks later that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

Back in my wait, I tried to spark some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “Well, this is an disagreeable variation, right chaps?”

One person chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, stillness ensued. An individual exited, zipping up. The group shuffled up a place. Another two men entered the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Exchange

A lady glided out of the adjacent facility, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to express recognition of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not fault her.