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Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an unusual situation. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled party were solely men, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The location was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, good drink and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the point dawned for trips to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to start up.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a shared procession only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern society would be gender parity in wee queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this is an disagreeable change, right boys?”

Someone chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a place. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to express an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.