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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an remarkable situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not important. The assembled group were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a tavern doing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, nice libations and remarkably entertaining stories about oral health. As expected, the time arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Rounding 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 great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my companions, angling away at something we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is limited to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the washbasins later that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a shared procession only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A handy metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Back in my queue, I attempted to get some male camaraderie flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “So, this is an irksome difference, isn't it boys?”

One person smiled, someone else looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a spot. Two more men entered the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady glided out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not blame her.