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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an remarkable episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not important. The present crowd were solely men, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, fine beverages and remarkably amusing anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the point arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A useful metric for any civilised culture would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Banter in the Procession

Back in my line, I attempted to spark some friendly chat going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this is an irksome variation, isn't it lads?”

A fellow chuckled, another appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. A man came out, zipping up. The line advanced a position. A couple more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady wafted out of the next-door facility, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not censure her.