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In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The present group were solely men, which is relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, good libations and unexpectedly entertaining tales about dentistry. Naturally, the point came for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is limited to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both niceties or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a shared procession merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

During my time in my wait, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a position. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.