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Just before Christmas, I had an extraordinary incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Nice fare, fine beverages and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. Inevitably, the time dawned for trips to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the sinks later that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a public line merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

During my time in my queue, I attempted to get some male camaraderie flowing about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “So, this makes an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence reigned. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a position. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman emerged out of the next-door facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not censure her.