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Just before the holidays, I experienced an remarkable incident. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The attending crowd were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Good cuisine, good beverages and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. 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 were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant experience. Women, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a shared procession merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A useful metric for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “So, this represents an unpleasant variation, right boys?”

A fellow smiled, someone else looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. A man came out, zipping up. The group shuffled up a position. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A lady glided out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not blame her.