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Just before the festive season, I encountered an unusual incident. I believe it did me good. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not relevant. The attending party were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A lost daytime was had by all. Nice cuisine, fine beverages and remarkably humorous stories about dentistry. As expected, the time dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be away a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding 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 gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A valuable measure for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

Returning to my line, I attempted to get some friendly chat going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “So, this is an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

Someone chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a position. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady glided out of the adjacent facility, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.