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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an unusual episode. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The present crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a tavern enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was had by all. Fine cuisine, fine drink and unexpectedly entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the point arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient 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 within-the-line communication is confined to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised society would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant change, doesn’t it chaps?”

Someone chuckled, another looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a place. Two more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female emerged out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not fault her.