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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an unusual situation. I think it did me good. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The present crowd were all blokes, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, good libations and remarkably humorous anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the point arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women glide through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue only for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A handy metric for any advanced culture would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Line

During my time in my queue, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a place. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A lady glided out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.