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Just before the festive season, I had an extraordinary situation. I think it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The attending party were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern doing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, fine drink and remarkably amusing anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women glide through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Females, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A handy measure for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Banter in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something like: “So, this represents an disagreeable change, isn't it chaps?”

Someone grinned, someone else looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a place. Another two men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to express recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.