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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but it's not pertinent. The assembled group were solely men, which is significant.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Good food, fine libations and unexpectedly amusing stories about oral health. Inevitably, the point dawned for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

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

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A useful metric for any civilised society would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my line, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “So, this is an unpleasant change, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone chuckled, another appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The line advanced a place. A couple more men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman emerged out of the next-door toilet, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to express recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not fault her.