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Just before the festive season, I had an extraordinary episode. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The present party were exclusively male, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Nice fare, fine drink and unexpectedly amusing tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins later that chat tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A handy metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Back in my wait, I tried to spark some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this represents an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

A fellow grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a place. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A female glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t censure her.