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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an unusual episode. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The attending group were all blokes, which is key.

A Novel Situation

The location was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Nice food, good drink and unexpectedly entertaining stories about teeth. Naturally, the point dawned for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women glide through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate told me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a shared procession merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful metric for any advanced community would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Back in my wait, I tried to initiate some friendly chat going about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an disagreeable change, doesn’t it boys?”

One person grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a place. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A female glided out of the next-door toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not fault her.