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Shortly before the festive season, I had an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled party were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The location was a tavern enjoying a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, fine drink and remarkably humorous tales about dentistry. Naturally, the point dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a common queue only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A valuable measure for any civilised community would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my line, I tried to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “Ah, this is an unpleasant change, isn't it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, a second appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A lady glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not censure her.