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Shortly before the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't important. The assembled group were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was had by all. Good fare, fine beverages and surprisingly amusing tales about dentistry. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space 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 line knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A useful metric for any advanced community would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some male camaraderie started about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable difference, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. Someone emerged, zipping up. The group moved forward a spot. Two more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female emerged out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.