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Just before the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not important. The attending crowd were all blokes, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A wasted session was had by all. Fine cuisine, good drink and unexpectedly amusing tales about dentistry. As expected, the point arrived for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue knew.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away 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 little knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the sinks later that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced community would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this is an disagreeable difference, isn't it boys?”

A fellow smiled, someone else looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A lady wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not fault her.