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Just before Christmas, I experienced an unusual incident. I believe it did me good. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't important. The present crowd were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Nice food, fine beverages and surprisingly entertaining stories about teeth. Naturally, the time came for trips to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, angling away at something we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Back in my queue, I attempted to spark some friendly chat started about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “Well, this represents an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone chuckled, a second looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a position. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady emerged out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not censure her.