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In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The attending group were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Good fare, fine libations and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the point arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I seen women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to queue in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A handy metric for any advanced culture would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

Returning to my line, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant difference, isn't it boys?”

A fellow grinned, someone else appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a position. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A female emerged out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.