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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I believe it did me good. This took place at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The present crowd were exclusively male, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a brisk business. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Nice food, good libations and surprisingly entertaining stories about teeth. Inevitably, the time arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue knew.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Back in my wait, I tried to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Well, this is an irksome difference, doesn’t it boys?”

One person grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A female glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not blame her.