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In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an remarkable episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The present party were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a tavern doing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Good food, nice beverages and unexpectedly humorous tales about dentistry. As expected, the time dawned for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the washbasins later that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised community would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I attempted to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone grinned, someone else looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a spot. Two more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A lady emerged out of the next-door toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really would not blame her.