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Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The present group were exclusively male, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Good cuisine, nice beverages and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the time arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on both niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a common queue only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter inequity of it. A handy measure for any modern culture would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Banter in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter going about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a spot. Two more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman wafted out of the next-door restroom, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.