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Just before Christmas, I had an remarkable incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled group were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, fine libations and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the time arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my companions, angling away at something we had in our jackets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that chat tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a public line simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable measure for any modern society would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone grinned, a second appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a place. Another two men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not fault her.