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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I think it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The present party were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, good beverages and remarkably humorous anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the point dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

During my time in my wait, I attempted to get some friendly chat going about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, someone else appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. A man came out, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a position. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A woman wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the time.”

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