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Just before the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but this isn't important. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A lost session was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, good beverages and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. Inevitably, the time arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women glide through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the washbasins later that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any modern society would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person smiled, another appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet reigned. Someone came out, zipping up. The line moved forward a spot. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady glided out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to convey recognition of this reversed scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not fault her.