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Just before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The attending party were solely men, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, good beverages and unexpectedly humorous stories about teeth. Inevitably, the point dawned for visits to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised culture would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Chat in the Line

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie going about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this makes an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

One person smiled, someone else looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another example of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men entered the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady glided out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not blame her.