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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an remarkable episode. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled group were solely men, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was had by all. Nice cuisine, good drink and surprisingly entertaining tales about oral health. As expected, the time arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is limited to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a public line merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the pure injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced culture would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

During my time in my queue, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “So, this is an disagreeable change, isn't it boys?”

Someone grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a spot. Two more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady emerged out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not blame her.