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In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an unusual incident. I think it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, fine libations and unexpectedly amusing stories about teeth. Naturally, the point dawned for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any modern community would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Back in my queue, I tried to get some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Well, this makes an disagreeable variation, right lads?”

One person smiled, someone else looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. An individual came out, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a position. A couple more men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to communicate recognition of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not blame her.