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Just before the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I feel it did me good. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The present crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, good libations and remarkably amusing stories about teeth. As expected, the time arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant experience. Females, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on either small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a public line simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A useful measure for any civilised community would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone smiled, someone else looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was a further example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence reigned. Someone emerged, zipping up. The group moved forward a place. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman emerged out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not blame her.