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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, good drink and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the time arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it came to my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague told me it’s only at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a common queue only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable measure for any civilised community would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

Returning to my wait, I tried to initiate some friendly chat started about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this represents an disagreeable change, isn't it lads?”

A fellow grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a spot. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to express an understanding of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.