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In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an unusual incident. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The present crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was had by all. Fine cuisine, fine beverages and remarkably humorous anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the point came for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me 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 men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a shared procession only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “So, this makes an disagreeable variation, isn't it boys?”

Someone smiled, a second looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a place. Another two men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A female glided out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t blame her.