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Just before Christmas, I experienced an unusual episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not important. The assembled group were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, fine libations and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the point dawned for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or quiet. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a public line simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern community would be equal waiting times in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Ah, this is an disagreeable difference, right lads?”

Someone smiled, someone else appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet prevailed. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Interaction

A lady emerged out of the next-door facility, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.