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Just before the holidays, I had an remarkable episode. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The attending crowd were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was had by all. Good cuisine, nice beverages and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting 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 knew.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is limited to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both niceties or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a shared procession only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A handy measure for any modern society would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

Returning to my line, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone smiled, another appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet prevailed. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. Another two men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman emerged out of the next-door facility, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not blame her.