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Just before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable situation. I think it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Good cuisine, good beverages and unexpectedly humorous stories about teeth. Inevitably, the point arrived for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A useful measure for any civilised community would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

Back in my queue, I attempted to get some brotherly banter started about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

A fellow smiled, someone else looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a position. Two more men joined the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A woman glided out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this reversed situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the time.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.