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Just before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable episode. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't relevant. The present crowd were all blokes, which is significant.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, good beverages and unexpectedly entertaining stories about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. How many times 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 having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the women glide through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s merely at the washbasins later that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on either niceties or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A valuable measure for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat going about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, right lads?”

One person grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. A man exited, zipping up. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Exchange

A woman wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to express recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t blame her.