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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an unusual situation. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The present group were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A lost session was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, fine beverages and remarkably humorous tales about dentistry. Inevitably, the time arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is limited to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks later that chat tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any modern community would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an disagreeable change, doesn’t it chaps?”

Someone grinned, someone else appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, quiet reigned. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a place. A couple more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A woman emerged out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t fault her.