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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't important. The attending party were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Fine fare, good drink and remarkably amusing anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the point dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women glide through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A valuable metric for any advanced society would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

Back in my line, I attempted to spark some friendly chat started about this novel circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Well, this makes an unpleasant difference, isn't it chaps?”

Someone grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness ensued. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a place. A couple more men entered the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A female glided out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.