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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an unusual situation. I feel it did me good. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not important. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A lost session was shared by the group. Good food, fine beverages and remarkably amusing stories about teeth. Inevitably, the point arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting 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 gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s only at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a common queue only for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A handy measure for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I attempted to spark some friendly chat flowing about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this is an disagreeable change, isn't it boys?”

One person grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A woman emerged out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.