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Just before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable incident. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't relevant. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is significant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, good libations and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the time dawned for trips to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the women breeze through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Females, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is limited to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks later that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A useful metric for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat flowing about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “So, this is an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it boys?”

One person grinned, someone else looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone came out, zipping up. The queue advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I may give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not blame her.