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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The attending crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Fine food, fine libations and remarkably humorous stories about oral health. Inevitably, the time came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on either small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a public line merely for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A handy measure for any modern community would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, isn't it boys?”

Someone chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence ensued. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a place. Two more men entered the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Exchange

A female wafted out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not fault her.