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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not relevant. The present crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A lost session was had by all. Good food, good drink and unexpectedly amusing tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins later that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A valuable measure for any advanced community would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

During my time in my line, I tried to spark some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something along the lines of: “Ah, this makes an irksome change, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, a second looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The line shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Interaction

A female emerged out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not blame her.