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Just before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not important. The present group were all blokes, which is key.

A Strange Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, nice drink and remarkably amusing anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the moment dawned for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter started about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this is an disagreeable change, right lads?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone exited, zipping up. The queue advanced a place. Another two men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.