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Just before the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The attending party were all blokes, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Fine food, good beverages and unexpectedly humorous stories about dentistry. As expected, the point came for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Females, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is limited to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a shared procession only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to get some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant change, right boys?”

Someone chuckled, a second looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a spot. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A lady glided out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not censure her.