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Just before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The attending group were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, good beverages and remarkably entertaining stories about teeth. Inevitably, the point came for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the sinks later that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy measure for any civilised community would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my line, I tried to get some friendly chat started about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

One person chuckled, a second looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. Someone exited, zipping up. The line advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A lady wafted out of the next-door toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t fault her.