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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an unusual episode. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The present party were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, nice beverages and surprisingly entertaining stories about oral health. As expected, the time came for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing small talk and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the washbasins later that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on both niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

Back in my queue, I tried to spark some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “So, this represents an irksome variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence ensued. An individual emerged, zipping up. The queue advanced a spot. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not blame her.