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Just before the festive season, I encountered an unusual episode. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not relevant. The attending party were solely men, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, good beverages and remarkably humorous stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in small talk and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A useful measure for any civilised society would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Line

Back in my line, I attempted to get some friendly chat going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “So, this makes an disagreeable change, isn't it lads?”

A fellow smiled, another looked blank, a third seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further example of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a spot. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly would not blame her.