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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an unusual situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not important. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, nice libations and surprisingly entertaining stories about oral health. Inevitably, the moment came for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s only at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised society would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some friendly chat started about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an irksome difference, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a position. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A lady glided out of the adjacent facility, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not censure her.