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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The attending crowd were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a brisk business. A lost afternoon was had by all. Nice fare, fine drink and surprisingly amusing stories about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins later that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a shared procession only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A valuable metric for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this is an irksome variation, doesn’t it lads?”

One person smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. A man exited, zipping up. The line shuffled up a spot. Two more men joined the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A female glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to convey recognition of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not censure her.