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Just before the festive season, I experienced an unusual situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't relevant. The attending crowd were solely men, which is relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, fine drink and surprisingly humorous tales about dentistry. Naturally, the moment came for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the women glide through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through 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 little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks later that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to wait in a shared procession simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A useful metric for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this is an disagreeable difference, right lads?”

Someone grinned, another looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a position. Another two men entered the back of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to express recognition of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not fault her.