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Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an unusual situation. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The present party were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Good food, good libations and surprisingly entertaining tales about teeth. Inevitably, the moment arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is limited to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins later that chat tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either small talk or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any civilised society would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

One person smiled, a second looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was one more example of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a place. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.