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Just before Christmas, I had an remarkable episode. I feel it did me good. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The assembled party were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted session was shared by the group. Nice food, nice beverages and remarkably humorous anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the time arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it was me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an interesting comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A handy metric for any modern culture would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “So, this represents an unpleasant variation, isn't it lads?”

A fellow chuckled, another appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence ensued. An individual came out, zipping up. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady glided out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to convey recognition of this reversed state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not fault her.