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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not important. The present crowd were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice libations and unexpectedly amusing tales about oral health. As expected, the time dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my companions, angling away at something we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, someone else looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. A man emerged, zipping up. The line shuffled up a place. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady emerged out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really would not censure her.