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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled party were all blokes, which proves to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The location was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Fine food, fine beverages and surprisingly entertaining tales about dentistry. As expected, the point arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women glide through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A useful measure for any modern culture would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter going about this new state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an unpleasant variation, isn't it boys?”

One person grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The queue advanced a position. A couple more men entered the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Interaction

A lady wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t fault her.