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In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The present party were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Situation

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was had by all. Nice food, nice libations and surprisingly amusing tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time came for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is confined to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on both small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a common queue merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my line, I tried to spark some friendly chat going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an irksome change, right boys?”

One person chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a position. Another two men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Exchange

A female wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really could not censure her.