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Just before Christmas, I encountered an remarkable situation. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not relevant. The present crowd were solely men, which is relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, nice drink and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. Inevitably, the moment arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

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

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women glide through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve asked some women of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on either niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a public line only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced culture would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my line, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant difference, isn't it boys?”

One person grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a place. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Interaction

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.