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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an remarkable situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The attending crowd were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, good libations and remarkably amusing stories about oral health. Naturally, the moment arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised culture would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

One person grinned, a second looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a spot. A couple more men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady glided out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not blame her.