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In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The present crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Fine food, nice drink and remarkably amusing anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a shared procession simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A handy measure for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone grinned, another appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The group advanced a place. Another two men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female emerged out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really would not censure her.