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Just before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I think it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The assembled crowd were solely men, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, fine drink and surprisingly humorous stories about teeth. Naturally, the time dawned for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the women glide through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is confined to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern community would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Ah, this makes an irksome variation, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow grinned, another appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Exchange

A female emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not blame her.