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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not important. The attending party were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, nice drink and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the point came for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on either niceties or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a shared procession simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

During my time in my line, I attempted to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Ah, this is an disagreeable difference, right chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, another appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence reigned. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A woman emerged out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not fault her.