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Just before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not important. The present party were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a brisk business. A lost daytime was had by all. Fine cuisine, fine beverages and unexpectedly entertaining tales about oral health. As expected, the moment dawned for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women glide through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to break out.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a common queue simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

During my time in my line, I tried to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this is an disagreeable change, right chaps?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. A man emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Interaction

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not blame her.