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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable situation. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not important. The attending party were exclusively male, which is significant.

A Novel Scenario

The location was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A lost session was shared by the group. Nice fare, good libations and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the point arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our phones.

The Art of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on either small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Well, this represents an irksome change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence ensued. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a position. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman glided out of the next-door restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.