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Just before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, good drink and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the time dawned for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A useful measure for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this is an irksome difference, isn't it boys?”

One person smiled, someone else looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, zipping up. The queue advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female glided out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.