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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an unusual incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not relevant. The present party were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, good beverages and unexpectedly amusing tales about teeth. Naturally, the moment dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a shared procession merely for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A handy measure for any civilised community would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Back in my wait, I tried to get some friendly chat going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an irksome difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

Someone grinned, another appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence ensued. Someone emerged, zipping up. The line advanced a position. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A female emerged out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, attempting to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not censure her.