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Just before Christmas, I encountered an unusual incident. I believe it did me good. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The present group were solely men, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Nice fare, fine beverages and remarkably humorous tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point arrived for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I observed women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is confined to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks later that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a shared procession merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful metric for any civilised culture would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, a second looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a position. Another two men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, attempting to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not blame her.