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In the run-up to Christmas, I had an remarkable situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled party were solely men, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, good libations and surprisingly amusing tales about teeth. As expected, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I seen women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is limited to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to stand in a shared procession simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised culture would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my queue, I tried to spark some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Ah, this is an disagreeable variation, isn't it lads?”

A fellow smiled, a second looked blank, a third looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a position. Another two men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to express an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not fault her.