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Just before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I think it did me good. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, nice drink and unexpectedly entertaining tales about teeth. As expected, the moment came for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

Back in my wait, I tried to initiate some friendly chat going about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant change, right lads?”

One person grinned, a second appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a position. Another two men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not fault her.