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In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an remarkable episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but it's not relevant. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Good fare, nice libations and unexpectedly humorous stories about teeth. Naturally, the time dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks later that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A useful measure for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Returning to my line, I tried to get some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “Well, this is an irksome difference, isn't it boys?”

Someone chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet reigned. A man emerged, zipping up. The line shuffled up a position. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman emerged out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not blame her.