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Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, fine beverages and unexpectedly amusing stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that chat tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a common queue simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable difference, right lads?”

A fellow smiled, another appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a spot. Another two men joined the end of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A female emerged out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not censure her.