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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary situation. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not relevant. The attending party were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A lost session was shared by the group. Nice food, fine libations and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a common queue only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A handy measure for any modern culture would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I attempted to get some brotherly banter going about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “So, this represents an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

Someone grinned, someone else looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a position. Another two men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not censure her.