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Just before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable incident. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The present party were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A wasted session was shared by the group. Good fare, fine beverages and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the time dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based communication is limited to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A valuable measure for any modern culture would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

Returning to my line, I attempted to get some brotherly banter flowing about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Well, this makes an irksome difference, right lads?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. An individual exited, zipping up. The line shuffled up a spot. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A female glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the time.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not fault her.