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Just before the holidays, I had an remarkable incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled party were all blokes, which proves to be key.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A lost session was had by all. Nice food, good beverages and unexpectedly entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the moment arrived for visits to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A useful measure for any modern community would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

Back in my wait, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone chuckled, another appeared confused, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A female wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t blame her.