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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The present group were solely men, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, nice beverages and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment came for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

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 gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women glide through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to stand in a common queue simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A valuable metric for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Well, this is an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it lads?”

One person smiled, a second appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a spot. Two more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.