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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an unusual situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A lost daytime was had by all. Nice cuisine, nice beverages and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the women breeze through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced community would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat going about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something like: “So, this makes an unpleasant change, isn't it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a position. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.