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Just before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The attending group were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, fine drink and surprisingly amusing stories about oral health. Naturally, the time dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my companions, angling away at something we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a shared procession simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern community would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I tried to spark some brotherly banter started about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an irksome variation, isn't it boys?”

One person grinned, another looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a position. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A lady glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to express recognition of this reversed scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.