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Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an unusual situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is significant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, nice drink and unexpectedly amusing tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A valuable metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a place. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady glided out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not blame her.