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Shortly before the festive season, I had an extraordinary incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not important. The assembled crowd were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, nice drink and surprisingly entertaining stories about dentistry. Naturally, the moment dawned for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be away a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I observed women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to stand 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 benchmark for any civilised culture would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching data on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie going about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “So, this makes an disagreeable variation, right lads?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a spot. Another two men joined the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t censure her.