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Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but this isn't important. The present party were exclusively male, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted session was had by all. Good food, nice drink and unexpectedly entertaining tales about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it was my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any modern culture would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Returning to my line, I tried to spark some friendly chat flowing about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant change, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person smiled, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. An individual emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A woman wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to convey recognition of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not blame her.