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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an unusual incident. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was had by all. Nice fare, good beverages and remarkably humorous anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the time arrived for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my mates, angling away at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks later that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to stand in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern community would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

Back in my wait, I attempted to get some friendly chat going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable change, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person chuckled, a second looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. Someone exited, zipping up. The line advanced a spot. Two more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A female emerged out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not censure her.