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In the run-up to the festive season, I had an extraordinary situation. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A wasted session was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, good beverages and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the moment came for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a public line merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any advanced culture would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Well, this represents an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a place. A couple more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A female wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not censure her.