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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an unusual incident. I feel it did me good. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but it's not relevant. The present crowd were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, nice libations and unexpectedly humorous stories about dentistry. As expected, the time came for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant experience. Females, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern community would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I tried to get some brotherly banter going about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

A fellow grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was yet another example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. An individual exited, zipping up. The queue moved forward a position. Another two men entered the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not blame her.