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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The attending crowd were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a tavern enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Good cuisine, fine beverages and unexpectedly amusing stories about oral health. Inevitably, the time arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the women breeze through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Females, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s only at the washbasins later that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a shared procession only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised culture would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Back in my queue, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “So, this is an irksome variation, right chaps?”

One person smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a spot. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A woman wafted out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.