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Just before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I think it did me good. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but it's not pertinent. The attending group were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted session was had by all. Good food, good libations and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the time dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it became my go, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the sinks later that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a public line simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any advanced society would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Back in my queue, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie going about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this is an irksome change, isn't it boys?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. Someone exited, zipping up. The line advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A woman emerged out of the next-door facility, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.