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Just before Christmas, I encountered an remarkable episode. I believe it did me good. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The present crowd were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Fine food, good beverages and remarkably amusing anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the moment dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A useful metric for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, right boys?”

One person grinned, someone else looked blank, a third seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A female wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not blame her.