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In the run-up to Christmas, I had an unusual situation. I believe it did me good. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The assembled party were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, nice libations and surprisingly amusing tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point came for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing 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 fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is limited to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the sinks later that chat tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession only for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A valuable measure for any modern community would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some friendly chat started about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

One person grinned, another appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. Another two men joined the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A female glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not censure her.