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Just before the holidays, I experienced an unusual incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not important. The present crowd were solely men, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, nice libations and remarkably humorous stories about oral health. Inevitably, the time came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I observed women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s merely at the washbasins later that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A handy metric for any civilised community would be gender parity in wee queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Back in my queue, I tried to get some friendly chat started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable change, isn't it boys?”

Someone smiled, a second appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a spot. Another two men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A female wafted out of the adjacent facility, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not censure her.