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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an unusual episode. I feel it did me good. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not important. The present group were all blokes, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, fine drink and unexpectedly humorous tales about oral health. As expected, the point dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is confined to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a shared procession only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie started about this novel circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “So, this represents an irksome difference, isn't it boys?”

A fellow smiled, someone else appeared confused, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a spot. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A female emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly could not censure her.