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Shortly before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable episode. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not relevant. The attending party were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A lost session was shared by the group. Fine food, fine libations and surprisingly humorous stories about oral health. Inevitably, the point dawned for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

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 women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that chat tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A handy metric for any modern society would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

Returning to my wait, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter going about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “So, this is an disagreeable change, right lads?”

One person grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a position. Another two men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A lady glided out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not censure her.