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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable situation. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't important. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Fine food, good drink and surprisingly amusing tales about teeth. Inevitably, the moment dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a common queue only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A useful metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I tried to initiate some friendly chat going about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “So, this makes an irksome change, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a spot. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female glided out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.