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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I feel it did me good. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't important. The present group were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted session was had by all. Fine food, fine beverages and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the moment arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is limited to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to wait in a shared procession simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A useful metric for any modern community would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Chat in the Line

During my time in my queue, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant difference, right boys?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence reigned. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a position. A couple more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.