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Just before the holidays, I experienced an remarkable incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not pertinent. The present party were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Novel Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, good libations and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the time came for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it became my go, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both small talk or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A handy measure for any modern society would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Returning to my queue, I tried to initiate some friendly chat started about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “So, this makes an unpleasant variation, isn't it lads?”

One person chuckled, another appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a position. Another two men entered the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady glided out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not censure her.