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Just before the festive season, I experienced an unusual incident. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't important. The attending group were solely men, which is key.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Nice food, nice beverages and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the time dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it was my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a shared procession only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Returning to my line, I tried to get some male camaraderie started about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “So, this represents an irksome variation, right boys?”

Someone chuckled, a second looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman wafted out of the next-door facility, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.