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Just before the festive season, I had an unusual situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not important. The present crowd were all blokes, which proves to be key.

A Strange Situation

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Good food, good beverages and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the point came for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue communication is limited to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a public line simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A useful measure for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Returning to my queue, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant difference, right boys?”

A fellow chuckled, another looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. An individual emerged, zipping up. The group advanced a spot. Two more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A female emerged out of the next-door facility, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.