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Just before Christmas, I encountered an unusual episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not relevant. The attending group were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was had by all. Good cuisine, nice drink and remarkably humorous anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the point came for visits to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it became me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced culture would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Returning to my line, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter started about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an unpleasant change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone grinned, a second looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a position. A couple more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady wafted out of the next-door restroom, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not blame her.