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Just before the festive season, I encountered an unusual episode. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not relevant. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is key.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, fine libations and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the time arrived for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, watching the women breeze through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Females, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful measure for any advanced community would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my line, I tried to spark some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Well, this represents an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it boys?”

One person grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. A man came out, zipping up. The line shuffled up a position. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A female emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not fault her.