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Just before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not important. The present crowd were all blokes, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten session was had by all. Fine food, nice beverages and unexpectedly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the point came for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the ladies' room, 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 were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is limited to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a public line simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A valuable metric for any modern community would be gender parity in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Banter in the Line

Returning to my line, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an irksome difference, right chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence reigned. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a position. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not blame her.