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Just before the festive season, I experienced an unusual episode. I feel it did me good. This took place at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The present group were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Good fare, fine libations and remarkably humorous anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the moment came for visits to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a shared procession only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised culture would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this is an disagreeable difference, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow smiled, another appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a spot. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Exchange

A woman wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not censure her.