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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary incident. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The present crowd were solely men, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A lost session was had by all. Good fare, good drink and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. Naturally, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all 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 were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the women breeze through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is confined to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A useful metric for any civilised society would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this represents an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone smiled, a second looked blank, a third seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a place. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A woman emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.