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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not important. The assembled group were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a tavern doing a brisk business. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, nice drink and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the time arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle 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 enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is confined to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague told me it’s only at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a common queue merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A useful metric for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a spot. Two more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not blame her.