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Just before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable incident. I think it did me good. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Fine cuisine, good beverages and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the time came for visits to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a public line merely for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Back in my line, I attempted to spark some friendly chat started about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Ah, this is an unpleasant change, doesn’t it boys?”

One person chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a place. Another two men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A lady wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t blame her.