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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an remarkable situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not important. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was had by all. Fine fare, fine beverages and remarkably humorous anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the time came for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, 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 neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is limited to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks later that chat tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on either small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a public line merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A valuable metric for any civilised culture would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie started about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something along the lines of: “Well, this is an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it lads?”

One person smiled, another looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a spot. Two more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to express an understanding of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not blame her.