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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable situation. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't important. The assembled party were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, good libations and remarkably humorous tales about teeth. Naturally, the time arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Females, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on both niceties or quiet. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A handy measure for any civilised community would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant variation, right lads?”

One person smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence ensued. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A lady wafted out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly could not censure her.