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Just before the festive season, I experienced an unusual incident. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The assembled group were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, fine beverages and remarkably humorous anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the moment dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the sinks later that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a shared procession merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy metric for any modern community would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter started about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Ah, this makes an irksome variation, isn't it boys?”

A fellow grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a place. Two more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not blame her.