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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an remarkable incident. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not important. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Nice food, nice drink and remarkably amusing tales about oral health. Naturally, the moment dawned for visits to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I observed women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the portal while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in small talk and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is limited to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A useful measure for any modern society would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Male Chat in the Procession

During my time in my line, I tried to spark some male camaraderie going about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Well, this is an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone smiled, another appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. An individual emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a place. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman wafted out of the next-door toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to express an understanding of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t blame her.