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Just before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were solely men, which is relevant.

A Novel Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, good drink and remarkably amusing anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the moment dawned for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Women, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is limited to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a shared procession merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Line

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie started about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “So, this represents an unpleasant variation, isn't it lads?”

A fellow smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a place. Another two men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A female wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not censure her.