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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an remarkable episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled group were all blokes, which is key.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, nice drink and remarkably entertaining tales about dentistry. As expected, the point came for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a common queue only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A useful metric for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Back in my line, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “So, this makes an irksome difference, right chaps?”

Someone smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a place. Another two men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A lady wafted out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not censure her.