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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an remarkable episode. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not important. The present party were all blokes, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A wasted session was had by all. Good cuisine, good beverages and unexpectedly entertaining stories about oral health. Naturally, the moment arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Back in my wait, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “So, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

Someone chuckled, someone else appeared confused, a other man looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. An individual came out, zipping up. The group advanced a place. Another two men joined the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A female wafted out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.