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Just before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't relevant. The assembled party were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice fare, fine libations and surprisingly entertaining stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based communication is limited to the rare weary glance and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins later that chat tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A useful measure for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter going about this novel circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Well, this makes an disagreeable change, right boys?”

Someone grinned, another appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman glided out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.