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Just before Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The present party were solely men, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, fine beverages and unexpectedly entertaining stories about oral health. Inevitably, the point came for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in queue with my mates, angling away at something we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an interesting comment or two.

On this I’ve asked some women of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is limited to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant variation, right boys?”

One person chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a spot. Another two men joined the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman glided out of the next-door facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to express an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

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