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Shortly before the holidays, I had an extraordinary incident. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not pertinent. The present crowd were all blokes, which is key.

A Strange Predicament

The location was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Good fare, nice beverages and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the point came for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced community would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an irksome change, isn't it chaps?”

One person chuckled, another appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. A man emerged, zipping up. The line shuffled up a place. Two more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female emerged out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.