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In the run-up to Christmas, I had an extraordinary incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, nice libations and unexpectedly humorous stories about oral health. As expected, the time came for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a public line only for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A handy measure for any civilised community would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie going about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Well, this makes an irksome variation, isn't it lads?”

Someone smiled, a second looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a place. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady wafted out of the adjacent facility, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.