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Just before the festive season, I encountered an unusual situation. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not important. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which is key.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was had by all. Good cuisine, fine beverages and remarkably humorous tales about teeth. As expected, the moment arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to queue in a shared procession only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A valuable measure for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I tried to spark some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an irksome change, doesn’t it boys?”

One person smiled, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The line shuffled up a position. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A female emerged out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to express recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not censure her.