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Just before the holidays, I had an unusual situation. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The attending group were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten session was had by all. Fine food, good beverages and unexpectedly entertaining tales about oral health. As expected, the moment dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Females, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing small talk and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A handy metric for any civilised culture would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Back in my line, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter started about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this is an disagreeable change, isn't it boys?”

One person chuckled, another looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. An individual came out, zipping up. The line shuffled up a spot. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to convey recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not blame her.