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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an unusual episode. I think it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The present party were exclusively male, which is relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A lost session was had by all. Good food, good beverages and unexpectedly amusing stories about oral health. Inevitably, the time arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on both small talk or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a common queue merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern society would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

During my time in my queue, I attempted to get some male camaraderie started about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable change, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow grinned, a second looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was one more example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a position. A couple more men joined the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A lady emerged out of the next-door facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not blame her.