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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an unusual incident. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not relevant. The attending crowd were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was had by all. Fine fare, good drink and remarkably amusing tales about teeth. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women glide through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the sinks later that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on either niceties or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a shared procession simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any modern society would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I attempted to get some male camaraderie going about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable change, right chaps?”

Someone smiled, someone else appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a position. Another two men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to communicate recognition of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.