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Shortly before the holidays, I had an extraordinary incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled party were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, good drink and unexpectedly amusing tales about dentistry. As expected, the time came for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place 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 decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my line, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow grinned, another looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a spot. Two more men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman glided out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to express recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not blame her.