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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable incident. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were solely men, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Nice food, fine beverages and unexpectedly entertaining stories about teeth. Naturally, the point arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, 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 injustice of it. A valuable metric for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Returning to my wait, I attempted to get some friendly chat started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “So, this is an irksome difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a position. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A lady emerged out of the next-door facility, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I may give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not censure her.