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In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which is relevant.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, good beverages and unexpectedly entertaining stories about dentistry. As expected, the point arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a common queue only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A valuable metric for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Back in my queue, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this represents an unpleasant change, right lads?”

One person chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I may give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not censure her.