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Just before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The present group were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Fine food, fine beverages and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the moment came for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women glide through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based 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 sinks subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on both niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a shared procession simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised culture would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “So, this makes an unpleasant variation, right boys?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet prevailed. Someone exited, zipping up. The line advanced a position. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not censure her.