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Shortly before the holidays, I had an remarkable situation. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The present group were solely men, which is significant.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was had by all. Nice fare, nice beverages and unexpectedly humorous stories about teeth. As expected, the time dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a common queue merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

During my time in my line, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “Well, this is an irksome difference, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow smiled, someone else appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was yet another example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a place. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A female wafted out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.