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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable situation. I feel it did me good. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't relevant. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which is relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a tavern doing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, good libations and surprisingly humorous tales about oral health. Inevitably, the moment came for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one 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

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy measure for any advanced culture would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some friendly chat going about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this is an disagreeable variation, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet prevailed. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a spot. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not fault her.