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Just before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable situation. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The present crowd were exclusively male, which is key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was had by all. Nice food, good beverages and surprisingly amusing tales about dentistry. Naturally, the point arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is confined to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised culture would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

Back in my queue, I tried to get some brotherly banter started about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an irksome change, isn't it lads?”

One person smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was one more example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to communicate recognition of this reversed scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not blame her.