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Just before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable situation. I think it did me good. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The present crowd were solely men, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was had by all. Fine food, nice drink and unexpectedly humorous tales about oral health. Inevitably, the point came for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the women breeze through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a shared procession merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this represents an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a position. Two more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.