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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but it's not relevant. The attending party were all blokes, which is relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, nice drink and surprisingly entertaining tales about teeth. Inevitably, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a public line only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern community would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Back in my queue, I attempted to get some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this represents an unpleasant variation, right lads?”

Someone chuckled, a second appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a place. A couple more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A lady emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t censure her.