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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The assembled group were all blokes, which is significant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, nice drink and remarkably entertaining tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point came for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a common queue only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A handy metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

Back in my queue, I attempted to get some male camaraderie flowing about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “So, this is an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it lads?”

One person smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A female glided out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to convey recognition of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not fault her.