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Shortly before the holidays, I had an extraordinary incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The attending party were exclusively male, which is key.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, good libations and unexpectedly amusing tales about oral health. Naturally, the moment came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the women breeze through the portal while I was compelled to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, angling away at something we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced society would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this is an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it boys?”

One person smiled, someone else looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was one more example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a place. Another two men entered the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A lady glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not fault her.