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Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not important. The present group were solely men, which is relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, fine beverages and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the moment came for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a shared procession only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised society would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this is an irksome change, isn't it boys?”

One person chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. A man came out, zipping up. The line advanced a position. Two more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to communicate recognition of this reversed situation. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not censure her.