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Just before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable incident. I believe it did me good. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Nice food, nice drink and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a public line merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “So, this represents an disagreeable change, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone chuckled, a second looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a place. A couple more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady emerged out of the adjacent facility, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not blame her.