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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an unusual situation. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The present crowd were exclusively male, which is relevant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Nice food, nice libations and surprisingly entertaining stories about oral health. Naturally, the time arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is limited to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to wait in a public line simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised culture would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat going about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something like: “Well, this is an irksome difference, isn't it lads?”

Someone smiled, someone else looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was one more example of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. Someone exited, zipping up. The line moved forward a position. Two more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A female wafted out of the next-door facility, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to express an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not fault her.