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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The present party were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, nice drink and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the time came for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting 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 line recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a public line only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A valuable metric for any civilised society would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Banter in the Line

Returning to my line, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, another appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a position. Two more men joined the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not fault her.