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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't important. The present group were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Fine cuisine, nice drink and unexpectedly amusing stories about oral health. Naturally, the time dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste 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, being forced to wait to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks later that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on both niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a common queue simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Back in my queue, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “Ah, this makes an irksome difference, right boys?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a position. Two more men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A female wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, attempting to convey recognition of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not blame her.