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Just before the holidays, I had an unusual situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The attending crowd were solely men, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Nice fare, fine drink and unexpectedly amusing stories about dentistry. As expected, the moment arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I seen women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a public line only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

Back in my wait, I tried to initiate some friendly chat going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an irksome difference, isn't it boys?”

One person chuckled, another looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. Two more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady glided out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to express an understanding of this reversed situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.