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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an unusual episode. I think it did me good. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not relevant. The attending group were exclusively male, which is key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice libations and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it was my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any modern society would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat flowing about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “So, this is an unpleasant change, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, another appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Interaction

A female wafted out of the next-door toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t blame her.