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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The assembled group were exclusively male, which is relevant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Good cuisine, fine libations and remarkably entertaining stories about dentistry. Naturally, the moment dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it came to me next, 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 female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on both niceties or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A useful metric for any advanced culture would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Back in my line, I tried to get some male camaraderie going about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “So, this makes an unpleasant change, doesn’t it lads?”

One person grinned, someone else appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a position. Another two men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.