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In the run-up to the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I feel it did me good. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not relevant. The assembled group were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, good drink and surprisingly amusing stories about dentistry. As expected, the moment arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on either niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a shared procession simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any civilised community would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my queue, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “So, this is an irksome change, isn't it lads?”

One person chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. An individual exited, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a spot. Another two men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A female glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not blame her.