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Just before Christmas, I had an unusual episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Fine fare, fine drink and surprisingly humorous tales about teeth. Inevitably, the time dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant experience. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is confined to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the sinks later that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

Returning to my queue, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this makes an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a position. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady emerged out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not censure her.