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Shortly before the festive season, I had an unusual episode. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Good fare, fine beverages and unexpectedly entertaining tales about oral health. As expected, the time came for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on both niceties or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a common queue only for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised society would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my line, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an irksome difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person grinned, someone else looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a place. Another two men joined the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A lady emerged out of the adjacent facility, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.