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Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an remarkable episode. I believe it did me good. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The attending group were all blokes, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A lost session was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, nice drink and remarkably amusing stories about teeth. Inevitably, the moment dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it was my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the women glide through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a public line simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Back in my queue, I attempted to get some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, isn't it boys?”

A fellow grinned, another looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. An individual emerged, zipping up. The line moved forward a place. Two more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A lady glided out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t blame her.