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Just before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable incident. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, good beverages and remarkably entertaining tales about teeth. Naturally, the time dawned for trips to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based communication is confined to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on both niceties or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a shared procession simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A useful measure for any advanced culture would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

Back in my line, I attempted to spark some friendly chat started about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant change, right chaps?”

A fellow grinned, another looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another example of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, quiet reigned. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. Another two men joined the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A lady glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.