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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not important. The present group were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A wasted session was shared by the group. Nice fare, good drink and remarkably entertaining stories about dentistry. As expected, the moment dawned for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it became my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, 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 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 Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the women glide through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is limited to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate told me it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on either small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A handy measure for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Well, this makes an irksome change, isn't it boys?”

One person chuckled, a second looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a place. Another two men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A female emerged out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not fault her.