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Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an unusual situation. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but it's not important. The attending group were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A lost session was had by all. Nice food, fine beverages and surprisingly entertaining stories about oral health. Inevitably, the moment came for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a common queue merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

Returning to my line, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, right chaps?”

A fellow grinned, someone else looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a place. Two more men entered the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady wafted out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.