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In the run-up to the festive season, I had an remarkable episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not relevant. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten session was had by all. Fine food, fine libations and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the point dawned for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the women breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a shared procession simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful measure for any civilised culture would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Returning to my wait, I attempted to get some friendly chat started about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an disagreeable difference, right boys?”

One person grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more example of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The queue moved forward a position. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Exchange

A woman glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not blame her.