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Shortly before the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Fine fare, good beverages and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the time dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is confined to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure injustice of it. A useful metric for any civilised culture would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Chat in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Ah, this is an unpleasant variation, right lads?”

One person chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. A man came out, zipping up. The group moved forward a spot. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A female glided out of the adjacent facility, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this reversed situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I could give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.