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Just before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The present crowd were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, fine drink and unexpectedly entertaining tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time came for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my companions, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing small talk and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s only at the washbasins later that chat tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A useful metric for any civilised culture would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie going about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an disagreeable difference, isn't it lads?”

A fellow chuckled, another looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a place. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A female emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.