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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an remarkable episode. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The present crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, fine drink and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a public line only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter inequity of it. A handy measure for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my line, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “So, this represents an irksome difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not fault her.