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Just before the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The attending party were all blokes, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, fine drink and remarkably humorous tales about dentistry. As expected, the moment came for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue knew.

A Taste of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Females, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is limited to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a shared procession simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A handy metric for any advanced society would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my line, I tried to get some friendly chat going about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Well, this makes an irksome difference, isn't it lads?”

Someone smiled, another appeared confused, a other man looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A woman emerged out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.