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Just before Christmas, I encountered an unusual situation. I believe it did me good. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The assembled crowd were solely men, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Fine food, nice drink and unexpectedly amusing stories about teeth. Inevitably, the time dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the door while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the sinks later that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any modern society would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “So, this represents an disagreeable variation, isn't it boys?”

One person smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. Someone emerged, zipping up. The group moved forward a place. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman glided out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not censure her.