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In the run-up to the festive season, I had an unusual situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not relevant. The assembled party were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, nice beverages and surprisingly amusing tales about oral health. Naturally, the time came for trips to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an notable observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the rare weary glance and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a public line merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

Back in my wait, I attempted to get some friendly chat started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable variation, isn't it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, a second looked blank, a third seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a place. Two more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not fault her.