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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The present party were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A wasted session was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, nice libations and unexpectedly amusing tales about teeth. As expected, the point arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the women breeze through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on either small talk or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A useful metric for any civilised community would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it boys?”

A fellow grinned, someone else appeared confused, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a place. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to convey an understanding of this reversed situation. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not fault her.