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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an unusual incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not important. The assembled party were all blokes, which is relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Fine fare, good libations and surprisingly humorous stories about oral health. Inevitably, the point dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the women breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is confined to the rare weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a public line merely for the chance to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern culture would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

During my time in my queue, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something like: “Well, this makes an unpleasant change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone grinned, a second looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. A man emerged, zipping up. The line moved forward a spot. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A lady emerged out of the adjacent facility, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to express recognition of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.