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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The assembled crowd were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Good cuisine, nice libations and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the point dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant experience. Females, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is confined to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a shared procession simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A handy metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Banter in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. Someone exited, zipping up. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Exchange

A female wafted out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to express an understanding of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not blame her.