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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an unusual situation. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't important. The present group were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, nice libations and remarkably amusing anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the moment came for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it became me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space 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 knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation 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, watching the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to wait in a common queue merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern culture would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Banter in the Procession

Returning to my queue, I attempted to spark some friendly chat started about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, right lads?”

One person chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more example of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a position. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A female emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I may give you the time.”

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