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Just before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable episode. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Good fare, fine drink and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the point dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a public line simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A valuable metric for any civilised society would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “So, this is an irksome change, isn't it boys?”

One person smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a spot. Another two men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to express recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not blame her.