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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an unusual incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A lost session was shared by the group. Good food, good beverages and remarkably entertaining tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a public line simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable metric for any modern community would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Returning to my line, I tried to spark some friendly chat started about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

Someone grinned, a second looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. Someone came out, zipping up. The queue advanced a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A lady glided out of the next-door restroom, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not censure her.