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Just before the holidays, I encountered an unusual incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Nice cuisine, good drink and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it came to my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue knew.

A Taste of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for sympathy from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in small talk and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the rare weary glance and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a public line merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any modern culture would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Chat in the Procession

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some friendly chat started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “So, this makes an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it boys?”

One person grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A female emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t censure her.