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Just before the holidays, I had an remarkable incident. I believe it did me good. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The present party were solely men, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a tavern doing a brisk business. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Good fare, nice drink and surprisingly amusing stories about oral health. As expected, the moment came for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is limited to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the sinks later that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a common queue merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my line, I attempted to get some male camaraderie flowing about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “So, this is an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence ensued. Someone exited, zipping up. The line shuffled up a spot. A couple more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A woman glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to express recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not fault her.