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Just before the festive season, I had an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The assembled party were solely men, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, fine drink and remarkably entertaining tales about oral health. As expected, the moment arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in small talk and an interesting insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either small talk or quiet. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A handy measure for any civilised culture would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

Returning to my line, I attempted to get some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this is an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was yet another example of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence ensued. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a position. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female glided out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time.”

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