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Just before Christmas, I experienced an unusual situation. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The attending party were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, nice drink and surprisingly humorous tales about teeth. Naturally, the point came for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it became my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, 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 asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a common queue merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A useful metric for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Back in my queue, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “So, this is an irksome change, isn't it lads?”

Someone chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. Someone came out, zipping up. The group advanced a spot. Another two men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.