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Just before the festive season, I had an unusual episode. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The attending group were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, good beverages and remarkably amusing tales about oral health. As expected, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a public line only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A handy metric for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Returning to my line, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie started about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

Someone chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a position. Two more men joined the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady glided out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not censure her.