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Shortly before the festive season, I had an extraordinary situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Nice cuisine, fine libations and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is limited to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the sinks later that chat tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A handy metric for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat started about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a place. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not fault her.