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Just before Christmas, I had an unusual episode. I think it did me good. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, good libations and surprisingly entertaining stories about oral health. As expected, the time dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women glide through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Women, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A handy metric for any advanced community would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie started about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it boys?”

One person smiled, another appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a spot. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A female wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to convey recognition of this reversed state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.