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Just before the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary incident. I think it did me good. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not important. The attending crowd were solely men, which is key.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Fine food, good libations and unexpectedly entertaining tales about oral health. Naturally, the moment arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it became me next, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the sinks later that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a public line simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced society would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to get some male camaraderie started about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Well, this makes an irksome difference, right chaps?”

One person smiled, a second looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a place. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female glided out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not fault her.