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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I believe it did me good. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled group were all blokes, which is significant.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, nice drink and surprisingly humorous tales about dentistry. As expected, the time dawned for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on both small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to wait in a public line merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A useful measure for any civilised society would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie started about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, someone else appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a spot. Two more men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A lady glided out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to express an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

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