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Shortly before the festive season, I had an extraordinary situation. I think it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Fine cuisine, nice beverages and remarkably humorous stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the point dawned for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. 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 not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I seen women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on both niceties or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A useful measure for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an irksome change, doesn’t it chaps?”

Someone grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. Someone exited, zipping up. The group advanced a place. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady emerged out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly could not censure her.