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Shortly before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable incident. I feel it did me good. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not relevant. The attending party were solely men, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice beverages and remarkably humorous tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I tried to get some brotherly banter started about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something like: “Well, this represents an irksome change, isn't it boys?”

Someone grinned, a second appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a place. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman glided out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to express an understanding of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not fault her.