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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an unusual incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not important. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, good libations and surprisingly humorous tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the women breeze through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A useful metric for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter going about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this represents an irksome change, right chaps?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. An individual exited, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady glided out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.