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Just before the festive season, I encountered an unusual situation. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A lost session was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice drink and surprisingly humorous stories about oral health. Inevitably, the moment came for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins later that chat tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on both niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a common queue simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A useful metric for any advanced society would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I tried to spark some male camaraderie started about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant change, doesn’t it boys?”

One person grinned, a second looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, stillness ensued. An individual exited, zipping up. The line advanced a place. Another two men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.