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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an unusual incident. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The present group were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Fine food, nice libations and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the time came for visits to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Women, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any advanced community would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Line

Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some friendly chat started about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an unpleasant difference, isn't it boys?”

A fellow smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a spot. Another two men joined the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A female emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not fault her.