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Shortly before the holidays, I had an extraordinary incident. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Fine cuisine, good drink and surprisingly humorous tales about dentistry. Naturally, the time arrived for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins later that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a common queue simply for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A handy measure for any modern society would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Banter in the Line

Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some friendly chat flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an irksome difference, isn't it lads?”

One person chuckled, another looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a place. Two more men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not fault her.