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Just before the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The attending crowd were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, nice libations and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the time came for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a public line merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

During my time in my wait, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant difference, right lads?”

One person chuckled, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. An individual came out, zipping up. The line advanced a place. Another two men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to express an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really could not blame her.