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Just before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I believe it did me good. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not important. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is significant.

A Strange Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A lost session was shared by the group. Good fare, nice drink and remarkably humorous tales about oral health. As expected, the moment arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to stand in a common queue only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A handy metric for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Male Chat in the Line

Returning to my wait, I attempted to get some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, right lads?”

A fellow chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a spot. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I may give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not fault her.