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Just before Christmas, I experienced an unusual situation. I feel it did me good. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but it's not relevant. The present party were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A lost session was had by all. Fine cuisine, fine libations and unexpectedly entertaining tales about oral health. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A useful measure for any modern culture would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Returning to my wait, I tried to initiate some friendly chat going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this represents an irksome change, right boys?”

A fellow chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. Two more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A female glided out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not censure her.