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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an remarkable episode. I think it did me good. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The present crowd were solely men, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Good cuisine, fine drink and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the point arrived for trips to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A useful measure for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I tried to initiate some friendly chat going about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “So, this represents an disagreeable change, right chaps?”

Someone grinned, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. A man exited, zipping up. The group moved forward a place. Two more men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t blame her.