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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not important. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Fine cuisine, nice drink and remarkably entertaining tales about dentistry. Naturally, the time came for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is confined to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the washbasins later that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern culture would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I tried to get some friendly chat started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something along the lines of: “So, this makes an unpleasant change, right lads?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a place. Two more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.