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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not important. The assembled party were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice libations and surprisingly entertaining tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point came for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is limited to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the washbasins later that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a shared procession merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced culture would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my line, I tried to get some brotherly banter flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this is an disagreeable difference, isn't it chaps?”

Someone smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. Someone emerged, zipping up. The group moved forward a position. Two more men entered the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not blame her.