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Shortly before the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The present crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Fine fare, fine drink and remarkably humorous tales about dentistry. Naturally, the point came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a public line simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A handy measure for any civilised culture would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my line, I attempted to get some friendly chat started about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an unpleasant change, right chaps?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a spot. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not fault her.