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Just before the festive season, I experienced an unusual situation. I think it did me good. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not relevant. The attending group were all blokes, which is significant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A lost daytime was had by all. Nice fare, nice drink and surprisingly amusing stories about oral health. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is confined to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced culture would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Returning to my line, I tried to spark some brotherly banter started about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow smiled, a second looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. A man came out, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to express an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not censure her.