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Just before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable episode. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't important. The assembled party were all blokes, which is key.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Fine food, fine drink and remarkably humorous anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the time dawned for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Women, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A handy measure for any advanced culture would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “So, this represents an irksome difference, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a position. Two more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman emerged out of the next-door facility, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not blame her.