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Shortly before the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, nice beverages and remarkably entertaining tales about teeth. Naturally, the moment came for visits to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the women breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins later that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a common queue only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A handy measure for any modern society would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

Back in my line, I endeavoured to get some male camaraderie started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Well, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a place. Two more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A lady glided out of the adjacent facility, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not blame her.