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Just before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not important. The present party were solely men, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Good cuisine, nice libations and unexpectedly entertaining stories about oral health. As expected, the time dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s only at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A useful measure for any advanced society would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I attempted to get some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Well, this is an irksome variation, right chaps?”

One person smiled, someone else looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a spot. Another two men joined the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A lady wafted out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to convey recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.