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Just before the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary incident. I feel it did me good. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The attending party were all blokes, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Good food, fine libations and unexpectedly entertaining tales about teeth. Inevitably, the time came for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is limited to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s only at the washbasins later that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced society would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Chat in the Line

During my time in my line, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter started about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

Someone smiled, another appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was one more example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a place. Another two men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A woman glided out of the adjacent facility, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.