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Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary incident. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't relevant. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which proves to be key.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Good fare, fine libations and remarkably amusing tales about oral health. As expected, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it was me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, 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 knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is limited to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the sinks later that chat tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A useful measure for any advanced culture would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Back in my wait, I tried to get some brotherly banter flowing about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this represents an disagreeable variation, isn't it chaps?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. An individual emerged, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a position. A couple more men entered the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly could not censure her.