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In the run-up to Christmas, I had an unusual situation. I feel it did me good. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not relevant. The present crowd were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Fine fare, good beverages and surprisingly entertaining stories about dentistry. Naturally, the time dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing 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 glide through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, angling away at something we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A handy metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

During my time in my line, I tried to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Ah, this is an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

Someone smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a place. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady glided out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.