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Shortly before Christmas, I had an extraordinary episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled crowd were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, good drink and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the time arrived for trips to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, sharing small talk and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is confined to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the washbasins later that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both niceties or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a public line simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A handy metric for any civilised culture would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching data on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

During my time in my queue, I tried to get some male camaraderie started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable variation, isn't it boys?”

Someone chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a position. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady glided out of the next-door facility, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t censure her.