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Just before the holidays, I had an unusual episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled party were exclusively male, which is significant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Fine food, nice drink and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the time arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women glide through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, sharing small talk and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to stand in a public line merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A useful metric for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some friendly chat started about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “So, this is an unpleasant variation, isn't it boys?”

A fellow grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady wafted out of the adjacent facility, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not censure her.