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Just before Christmas, I encountered an unusual episode. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not important. The attending crowd were solely men, which is relevant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Good fare, nice beverages and remarkably amusing tales about teeth. Inevitably, the time arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a public line merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my queue, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter going about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone chuckled, someone else appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a position. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not blame her.