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Just before the holidays, I experienced an remarkable situation. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The attending party were exclusively male, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, good drink and remarkably humorous anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the point arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the women glide through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins later that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a common queue merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful metric for any modern culture would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie started about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “So, this represents an disagreeable change, right boys?”

A fellow chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a spot. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A female wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to express recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t fault her.