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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an unusual situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not important. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A lost daytime was had by all. Nice cuisine, fine libations and unexpectedly amusing stories about teeth. Inevitably, the moment came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either niceties or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a shared procession only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any civilised society would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Back in my line, I tried to get some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant change, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was one more example of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. Someone came out, zipping up. The line advanced a spot. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A lady wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not censure her.