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Shortly before the festive season, I had an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is key.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Fine food, fine beverages and remarkably entertaining tales about oral health. As expected, the moment arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is restricted to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A useful measure for any advanced community would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant change, right chaps?”

Someone smiled, another appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. An individual emerged, zipping up. The line shuffled up a spot. Two more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not blame her.