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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I believe it did me good. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The assembled party were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Situation

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten session was had by all. Fine fare, good drink and remarkably humorous stories about oral health. Naturally, the time came for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A handy measure for any civilised culture would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Back in my line, I attempted to get some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person smiled, another looked blank, a third seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a spot. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A female glided out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t fault her.