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Just before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable episode. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not relevant. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, fine libations and remarkably amusing stories about oral health. As expected, the time arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a common queue only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable measure for any modern culture would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Returning to my line, I tried to spark some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant change, isn't it chaps?”

One person chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. An individual exited, zipping up. The line shuffled up a position. Another two men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not censure her.