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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The attending group were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, good beverages and unexpectedly amusing stories about teeth. Inevitably, the point came for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is limited to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a public line simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful measure for any modern society would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant difference, right lads?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. A man came out, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a position. Another two men entered the end of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I really would not censure her.