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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an unusual incident. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not important. The present group were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, fine libations and unexpectedly amusing stories about dentistry. Naturally, the moment came for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is limited to the rare weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A handy metric for any civilised culture would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

Returning to my wait, I tried to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, isn't it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more example of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a place. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman emerged out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not blame her.