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Just before Christmas, I encountered an unusual situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled crowd were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Nice food, nice drink and remarkably humorous stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the time arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A valuable measure for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I attempted to get some brotherly banter flowing about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an irksome variation, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. Another two men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady wafted out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.