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In the run-up to Christmas, I had an extraordinary situation. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The present crowd were exclusively male, which is key.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, nice beverages and surprisingly entertaining tales about dentistry. Naturally, the time dawned for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either niceties or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

During my time in my wait, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie going about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable variation, right lads?”

One person chuckled, a second looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was a further example of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a position. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A lady wafted out of the next-door facility, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t fault her.