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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I think it did me good. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not important. The attending party were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A lost session was shared by the group. Good fare, good drink and remarkably entertaining stories about oral health. As expected, the point dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it became my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find 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 fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a public line only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy measure for any advanced society would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to get some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this is an unpleasant variation, right chaps?”

A fellow smiled, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a spot. Two more men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A female glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.