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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable episode. I think it did me good. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A lost session was shared by the group. Good cuisine, good drink and unexpectedly humorous stories about teeth. Naturally, the time came for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. 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 Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a public line only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A handy measure for any advanced culture would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Chat in the Procession

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this is an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it lads?”

One person chuckled, another looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a position. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A lady glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to express an understanding of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I may give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not fault her.