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In the run-up to the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not pertinent. The present crowd were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, nice libations and surprisingly amusing tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, 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 conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a shared procession only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any modern culture would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

Back in my wait, I attempted to get some brotherly banter going about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Well, this is an disagreeable change, isn't it boys?”

Someone smiled, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a spot. Another two men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female emerged out of the next-door restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

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