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In the run-up to Christmas, I had an extraordinary situation. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The attending party were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was had by all. Fine fare, nice libations and remarkably amusing anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the point came for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. Repeatedly have I observed women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a shared procession merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A useful measure for any advanced community would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

Back in my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat going about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a position. Another two men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A woman emerged out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not fault her.