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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The attending party were solely men, which is key.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, fine beverages and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the moment arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a shared procession merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A useful metric for any modern society would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I tried to spark some male camaraderie started about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, right boys?”

Someone grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a position. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady emerged out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to convey recognition of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not fault her.