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Shortly before Christmas, I had an unusual situation. I feel it did me good. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't important. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A lost session was shared by the group. Nice fare, good libations and remarkably entertaining tales about oral health. Naturally, the time arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be away a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for women, 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 comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the sinks later that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or quiet. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a public line simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A handy measure for any modern society would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

Returning to my wait, I attempted to get some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Well, this represents an disagreeable change, right lads?”

Someone grinned, a second looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A woman emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not fault her.