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In the run-up to the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The present group were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Situation

The location was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A wasted session was shared by the group. Good food, nice beverages and remarkably amusing anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the point came for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue communication is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s merely at the washbasins later that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a public line merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A useful measure for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my line, I tried to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this represents an irksome variation, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was a further example of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a spot. Two more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman wafted out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly could not censure her.