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Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The present party were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, nice libations and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the point came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it became my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either small talk or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy measure for any advanced community would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Back in my queue, I tried to initiate some friendly chat going about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Well, this represents an disagreeable difference, isn't it lads?”

One person grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a position. Two more men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not fault her.