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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not relevant. The assembled party were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Good fare, nice libations and surprisingly entertaining tales about teeth. As expected, the time came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, 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 sheer injustice of it. A handy metric for any modern culture would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Returning to my line, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable change, isn't it chaps?”

One person chuckled, another looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. Another two men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to communicate recognition of this reversed scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not censure her.