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Shortly before Christmas, I had an remarkable episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but it's not relevant. The present crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, nice beverages and surprisingly entertaining stories about teeth. Naturally, the point dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A valuable metric for any advanced society would be gender parity in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something like: “So, this makes an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

One person grinned, another appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a place. Two more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Exchange

A female wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.