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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The attending group were solely men, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Good fare, fine libations and remarkably humorous anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the time arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my mates, angling away at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on either niceties or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful metric for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Back in my queue, I tried to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an irksome difference, isn't it lads?”

A fellow smiled, someone else appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a position. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A lady glided out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She didn’t say anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t censure her.