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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an unusual incident. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not important. The attending group were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, fine beverages and unexpectedly entertaining stories about teeth. Inevitably, the moment came for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond 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 endure. It was truly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins later that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a shared procession simply for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A useful measure for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my queue, I tried to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

Someone chuckled, another looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. Someone came out, zipping up. The group moved forward a place. Two more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A female emerged out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I could give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not blame her.