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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary situation. I believe it did me good. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled party were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten session was had by all. Fine fare, good beverages and remarkably humorous anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment came for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, 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 Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A handy measure for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

Back in my queue, I tried to get some brotherly banter going about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant variation, isn't it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. An individual emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not censure her.