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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an unusual incident. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not important. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice food, fine beverages and unexpectedly humorous tales about dentistry. Inevitably, the point came for visits to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal 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 asked some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Back in my queue, I tried to spark some friendly chat flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “So, this is an unpleasant change, doesn’t it boys?”

One person smiled, someone else looked blank, a third seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a spot. Another two men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A woman glided out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.