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Shortly before Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I think it did me good. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but it's not important. The assembled party were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Good cuisine, good drink and surprisingly entertaining tales about teeth. As expected, the time arrived for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the women glide through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a public line merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A valuable metric for any modern community would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

Returning to my wait, I attempted to spark some friendly chat going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this represents an irksome difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person grinned, another appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a spot. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not blame her.