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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an remarkable situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not relevant. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, good beverages and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the moment dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it became me next, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks later that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern culture would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat going about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an irksome change, isn't it chaps?”

One person chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. An individual exited, zipping up. The line moved forward a spot. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I could give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.