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Just before the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The present crowd were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Nice food, fine libations and remarkably entertaining stories about teeth. As expected, the point arrived for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession 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

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the women breeze through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on either small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a common queue only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure injustice of it. A valuable measure for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to get some friendly chat started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something like: “So, this is an irksome difference, right chaps?”

A fellow smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a place. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A female wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not blame her.