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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The assembled party were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted session was shared by the group. Nice food, fine libations and remarkably amusing stories about dentistry. As expected, the point arrived for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it was my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my mates, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both niceties or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a shared procession simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy metric for any modern culture would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “So, this is an disagreeable change, isn't it lads?”

One person chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a place. A couple more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A female wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not censure her.