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In the run-up to the festive season, I had an unusual episode. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled group were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted session was shared by the group. Nice food, nice beverages and unexpectedly amusing tales about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or quiet. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a shared procession only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Chat in the Line

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable difference, right boys?”

One person chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence reigned. A man emerged, zipping up. The line shuffled up a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A woman emerged out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to express recognition of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not censure her.