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Just before the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A lost session was shared by the group. Fine fare, nice beverages and surprisingly humorous tales about oral health. As expected, the point arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s only at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a public line only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any modern culture would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie going about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant difference, right boys?”

A fellow smiled, someone else looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a place. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not fault her.