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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but it's not important. The attending group were exclusively male, which is key.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Fine food, nice libations and unexpectedly humorous stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment came for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a public line only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Back in my line, I tried to initiate some friendly chat going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant variation, right boys?”

One person smiled, someone else looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. A man came out, zipping up. The queue moved forward a place. Another two men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, trying to express an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.