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Just before the holidays, I had an unusual situation. I think it did me good. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not important. The present group were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was had by all. Nice food, fine libations and remarkably amusing tales about teeth. Inevitably, the moment came for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant experience. Females, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a shared procession simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised culture would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I tried to get some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “Ah, this is an irksome variation, isn't it chaps?”

Someone chuckled, another looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. A man exited, zipping up. The group advanced a position. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman emerged out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I may give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not fault her.