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Just before the holidays, I had an unusual episode. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The attending party were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, nice libations and surprisingly amusing tales about dentistry. As expected, the time arrived for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the sinks later that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on both niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a public line only for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an irksome difference, doesn’t it boys?”

One person grinned, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. Someone emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not blame her.