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Shortly before the festive season, I had an extraordinary incident. I think it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was had by all. Fine food, good drink and unexpectedly entertaining stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the time arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Women, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a common queue simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern culture would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Well, this is an disagreeable change, doesn’t it lads?”

One person grinned, another looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a position. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A female wafted out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I may give you the time.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not blame her.