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Shortly before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable episode. I think it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not important. The present party were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, nice drink and unexpectedly entertaining tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks later that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a public line only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

Back in my wait, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie going about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this is an irksome change, doesn’t it lads?”

One person chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. Someone exited, zipping up. The line shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to express recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.