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Shortly before Christmas, I had an remarkable situation. I believe it did me good. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not pertinent. The assembled group were exclusively male, which is relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, fine libations and remarkably entertaining stories about oral health. As expected, the time came for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to wait in a public line merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced society would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

Back in my line, I attempted to get some male camaraderie flowing about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this makes an unpleasant variation, isn't it lads?”

A fellow grinned, someone else appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence reigned. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not blame her.