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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an unusual situation. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The present party were solely men, which is significant.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted session was had by all. Nice food, good drink and surprisingly amusing stories about dentistry. As expected, the moment came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a shared procession only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A handy metric for any civilised community would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this represents an irksome change, right boys?”

One person chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a position. Another two men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Interaction

A woman wafted out of the next-door toilet, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t censure her.