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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an unusual incident. I think it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not important. The attending party were all blokes, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, good libations and remarkably entertaining stories about dentistry. As expected, the moment dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue knew.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the women breeze through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s merely at the sinks later that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a public line only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A useful measure for any modern society would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

Returning to my wait, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone grinned, someone else looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Interaction

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I could give you the time of day.”

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