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In the run-up to the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The present crowd were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Situation

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Fine fare, fine libations and remarkably humorous stories about oral health. As expected, the time came for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is confined to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a common queue merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I tried to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an irksome change, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person grinned, someone else looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a spot. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman wafted out of the adjacent facility, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not blame her.