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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't relevant. The present party were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, fine beverages and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the time came for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the rare exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the washbasins later that chat tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to wait in a shared procession merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A useful measure for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Returning to my line, I tried to spark some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome difference, right chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, a second looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. A man came out, zipping up. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady glided out of the next-door facility, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this reversed scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I may give you the time.”

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