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Just before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable situation. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The present party were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, nice drink and unexpectedly entertaining stories about oral health. Naturally, the time arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. 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 line recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Art of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is confined to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A useful metric for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it boys?”

Someone smiled, a second looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another example of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, quiet reigned. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a position. Two more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really would not fault her.