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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled group were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The location was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, fine beverages and surprisingly amusing tales about dentistry. As expected, the point came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a shared procession only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A useful metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this makes an unpleasant change, right lads?”

One person grinned, another appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. A man exited, zipping up. The group advanced a position. A couple more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A female glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really could not censure her.