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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an unusual incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a tavern doing a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, nice libations and unexpectedly humorous tales about dentistry. Naturally, the time dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a public line merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “So, this is an disagreeable difference, isn't it lads?”

One person chuckled, another appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not blame her.