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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The present crowd were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Nice fare, nice drink and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the moment dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is confined to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a public line simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable measure for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Back in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie going about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable difference, isn't it chaps?”

One person chuckled, another looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The queue advanced a position. Two more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady emerged out of the next-door toilet, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not blame her.