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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an remarkable situation. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not important. The present crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A lost session was had by all. Good food, nice libations and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the time dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it came to 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 ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my companions, angling away at something we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a common queue simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful metric for any modern community would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat going about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “So, this is an unpleasant change, isn't it boys?”

A fellow smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was yet another example of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a place. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A female glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to convey recognition of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I may give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly could not blame her.