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Just before Christmas, I encountered an remarkable situation. I feel it did me good. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled group were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, good libations and unexpectedly humorous stories about dentistry. As expected, the moment came for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a queue 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 embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is restricted to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to wait in a shared procession only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A handy metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Chat in the Line

During my time in my queue, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie going about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an irksome variation, right lads?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a place. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman glided out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to express recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not fault her.