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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an unusual episode. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't important. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Good fare, nice libations and remarkably amusing anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the time came for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women glide through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the sinks later that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a public line only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A handy measure for any modern community would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

During my time in my queue, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “So, this represents an disagreeable change, right boys?”

A fellow smiled, a second appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a position. Another two men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A woman wafted out of the next-door facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really would not blame her.