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In the run-up to Christmas, I had an remarkable incident. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not important. The attending party were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Good fare, fine drink and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women glide through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A handy metric for any civilised society would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Banter in the Line

Back in my queue, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this is an unpleasant variation, right chaps?”

One person chuckled, someone else looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not blame her.