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Just before Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The attending party were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, good drink and remarkably humorous stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the point came for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women glide through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is limited to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Chat in the Procession

Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, right chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a position. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Exchange

A woman emerged out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.