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Shortly before the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't important. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is relevant.

A Strange Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Nice cuisine, nice drink and remarkably humorous anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the time dawned for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing small talk and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks later that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a shared procession merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A handy metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

Returning to my line, I tried to get some male camaraderie started about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Well, this makes an irksome variation, isn't it lads?”

A fellow chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a spot. A couple more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Interaction

A female wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to express an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.