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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I believe it did me good. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't important. The assembled crowd were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Nice food, nice beverages and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the time dawned for visits to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the women breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a common queue merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A useful metric for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

During my time in my line, I attempted to get some friendly chat started about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an irksome difference, isn't it chaps?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was a further example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not blame her.