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Just before Christmas, I encountered an unusual incident. I believe it did me good. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The attending party were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, good drink and remarkably amusing anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the moment came 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 became my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s only at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a public line merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A useful measure for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Back in my line, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable change, isn't it lads?”

One person chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A lady emerged out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not blame her.