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Shortly before the festive season, I had an remarkable situation. I think it did me good. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, fine beverages and remarkably entertaining stories about dentistry. As expected, the moment dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell 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 empathy from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a common queue only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable measure for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this is an irksome difference, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet prevailed. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a spot. Another two men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female glided out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to convey recognition of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not fault her.