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Just before Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not important. The assembled group were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Good food, fine drink and surprisingly humorous stories about dentistry. As expected, the moment came for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised community would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Chat in the Procession

Back in my wait, I tried to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, isn't it lads?”

A fellow grinned, someone else appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a place. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A female wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t fault her.