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Shortly before the festive season, I had an extraordinary situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't important. The assembled group were all blokes, which is key.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, nice libations and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. As expected, the moment dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Females, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a shared procession only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable metric for any modern community would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Back in my queue, I attempted to spark some friendly chat flowing about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant difference, isn't it boys?”

Someone smiled, another looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. Someone came out, zipping up. The line moved forward a spot. Two more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman wafted out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.