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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I think it did me good. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The present party were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, nice beverages and remarkably humorous tales about oral health. Naturally, the point dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is limited to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy measure for any modern community would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant difference, right boys?”

One person grinned, someone else appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. A man exited, zipping up. The line shuffled up a position. Two more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to express recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not blame her.