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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I believe it did me good. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The attending crowd were all blokes, which is significant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, good drink and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the time arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s only at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A useful measure for any advanced society would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie started about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this is an disagreeable variation, isn't it lads?”

One person chuckled, a second looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was one more example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a position. Two more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A lady glided out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not censure her.