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Shortly before the festive season, I had an remarkable episode. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled party were solely men, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, fine beverages and unexpectedly entertaining tales about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I seen women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the sinks later that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a common queue only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Line

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter started about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Well, this represents an disagreeable change, right lads?”

One person chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a place. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A woman wafted out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.