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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not important. The present party were exclusively male, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, fine libations and remarkably amusing tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it was me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is limited to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks later that chat tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a shared procession merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter going about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this is an disagreeable variation, right boys?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. A man came out, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a spot. Another two men entered the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A woman glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not censure her.