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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an remarkable incident. I think it did me good. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The assembled group were all blokes, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a brisk business. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, fine drink and surprisingly entertaining tales about teeth. Naturally, the time arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me 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 gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women glide through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Females, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to break out.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern culture would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Line

During my time in my line, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow grinned, a second looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a spot. Two more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A female emerged out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not fault her.