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Shortly before the holidays, I had an extraordinary incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't relevant. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, good libations and unexpectedly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the moment dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on either niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a common queue simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A handy measure for any modern community would be gender parity in wee queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my line, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie going about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. A man emerged, zipping up. The line moved forward a place. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A female emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t fault her.