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Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an unusual situation. I feel it did me good. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't important. The assembled group were all blokes, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Fine fare, fine libations and surprisingly humorous stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment came for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is limited to the rare weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s only at the washbasins later that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a public line merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

Returning to my line, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, isn't it lads?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness ensued. A man emerged, zipping up. The group shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A lady glided out of the next-door toilet, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.