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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I think it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The present group were solely men, which is relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was had by all. Good cuisine, fine beverages and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the point dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Well, this is an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

Someone chuckled, a second looked blank, a third looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a spot. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t fault her.