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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an unusual situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not important. The present crowd were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted session was had by all. Nice fare, nice beverages and remarkably entertaining tales about oral health. Inevitably, the moment dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A valuable metric for any civilised society would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Well, this is an irksome difference, isn't it boys?”

Someone smiled, another looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a spot. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A female glided out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not fault her.