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Just before the festive season, I experienced an unusual incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The present group were solely men, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Nice cuisine, fine libations and surprisingly entertaining stories about teeth. Naturally, the time dawned for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Females, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is limited to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A useful measure for any civilised culture would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Back in my queue, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant change, right boys?”

One person smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a position. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A lady emerged out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.