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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an unusual situation. I think it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not important. The assembled party were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice drink and unexpectedly humorous stories about dentistry. Naturally, the point arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a public line merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A useful metric for any advanced culture would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I tried to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant change, isn't it chaps?”

One person chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was one more example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a spot. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A lady wafted out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really would not censure her.