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Shortly before the festive season, I had an remarkable situation. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not important. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Situation

The location was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, fine drink and unexpectedly entertaining tales about dentistry. As expected, the moment arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that chat tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A valuable metric for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I attempted to get some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “Well, this makes an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

One person chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. Someone came out, zipping up. The group moved forward a position. A couple more men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A female glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.