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Just before the holidays, I experienced an remarkable episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was had by all. Nice cuisine, good drink and unexpectedly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the point came for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue communication is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced culture would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable difference, isn't it chaps?”

Someone chuckled, a second appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to convey an understanding of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.