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Shortly before Christmas, I had an unusual incident. I feel it did me good. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not important. The attending party were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Fine fare, fine libations and surprisingly amusing tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point came for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, sharing small talk and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a public line only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A useful measure for any advanced community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Back in my line, I attempted to get some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone grinned, another appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was one more example of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.