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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled party were exclusively male, which is key.

A Novel Situation

The location was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Fine fare, good beverages and remarkably amusing tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Women, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a public line merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A useful metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

Back in my line, I attempted to spark some friendly chat going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this represents an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it boys?”

One person smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. A man exited, zipping up. The queue advanced a spot. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A lady glided out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to express recognition of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not censure her.