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Just before the holidays, I experienced an unusual incident. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not relevant. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, nice libations and unexpectedly entertaining stories about teeth. Inevitably, the moment dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the rare exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d waste no time on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a shared procession simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A valuable metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I tried to get some brotherly banter going about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this is an unpleasant variation, right boys?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a spot. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Interaction

A lady emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not censure her.