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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not important. The present group were exclusively male, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Nice fare, nice drink and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the time came for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a shared procession only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any advanced society would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I tried to get some friendly chat flowing about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this is an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

One person grinned, a second looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was a further example of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a place. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A woman glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t fault her.