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Just before the festive season, I experienced an unusual incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The attending party were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Situation

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, nice drink and surprisingly entertaining stories about oral health. Inevitably, the time dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable metric for any advanced culture would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

Back in my queue, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “Ah, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

Someone smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a position. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A woman wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not censure her.