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In the run-up to the festive season, I had an remarkable episode. I think it did me good. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not important. The attending party were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Fine fare, good libations and remarkably amusing stories about dentistry. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is limited to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate told me it’s merely at the washbasins later that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on either niceties or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a common queue merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced community would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to get some friendly chat flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Well, this makes an disagreeable change, isn't it lads?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Interaction

A woman glided out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not censure her.