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Just before Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The assembled party were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was had by all. Nice fare, good drink and surprisingly entertaining tales about oral health. Naturally, the point came for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it came to my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a public line merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Banter in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to get some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome difference, isn't it boys?”

A fellow grinned, another appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. An individual came out, zipping up. The group shuffled up a place. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female wafted out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t blame her.