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In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an unusual situation. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The present crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten session was had by all. Good food, fine libations and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the moment dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, 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 were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is confined to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the sinks later that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant variation, right lads?”

Someone smiled, another appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a position. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A female glided out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed bashfully at her, attempting to express an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not fault her.