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Just before Christmas, I had an unusual incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not important. The assembled crowd were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A lost daytime was had by all. Nice cuisine, good drink and surprisingly amusing stories about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

A Taste of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an notable observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either niceties or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a shared procession only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy measure for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Back in my wait, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this is an unpleasant variation, right chaps?”

Someone smiled, a second appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. Someone emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a place. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.