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Shortly before Christmas, I experienced an unusual situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which is key.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Good fare, good libations and remarkably humorous stories about oral health. Inevitably, the time arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it was my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is confined to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins later that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both niceties or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised community would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

Back in my queue, I tried to spark some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “So, this is an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. Two more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A female wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.