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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable episode. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The present party were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice libations and unexpectedly amusing stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it was me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Females, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on both niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this is an disagreeable variation, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence ensued. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a place. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A female wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.