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Just before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A lost session was had by all. Nice fare, nice libations and surprisingly amusing tales about dentistry. Inevitably, the time came for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is confined to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a public line simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A useful metric for any modern society would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

Back in my wait, I tried to spark some brotherly banter started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

Someone grinned, a second looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. Someone came out, zipping up. The line moved forward a place. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not censure her.