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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an unusual incident. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not important. The present crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, nice drink and surprisingly amusing tales about dentistry. As expected, the moment arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based communication is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A useful measure for any advanced society would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Back in my line, I tried to get some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable change, doesn’t it lads?”

One person grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a spot. A couple more men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A woman glided out of the next-door restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not blame her.