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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled group were all blokes, which is significant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Fine food, nice libations and remarkably entertaining tales about dentistry. As expected, the moment dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it became my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a public line only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an irksome variation, right lads?”

One person chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence ensued. An individual came out, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a position. Another two men joined the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A lady glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not blame her.