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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an remarkable episode. I feel it did me good. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Nice fare, fine libations and unexpectedly amusing stories about dentistry. As expected, the moment dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

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

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on either small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A valuable metric for any civilised community would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Returning to my line, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “So, this is an disagreeable change, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. An individual emerged, zipping up. The line advanced a spot. A couple more men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A woman emerged out of the next-door facility, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not censure her.