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Shortly before the holidays, I had an unusual incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The present crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, nice beverages and remarkably amusing anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the point dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is limited to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks later that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A valuable metric for any advanced society would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter going about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this is an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

One person smiled, another appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a position. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female wafted out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.