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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an unusual situation. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The present party were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The location was a tavern doing a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Nice cuisine, fine beverages and remarkably amusing tales about oral health. Inevitably, the moment came for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all 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 gathering recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable metric for any modern society would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “So, this is an unpleasant change, right lads?”

Someone smiled, another looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. A man emerged, zipping up. The line shuffled up a place. Two more men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A female glided out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.