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In the run-up to Christmas, I had an unusual incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not pertinent. The attending group were solely men, which is key.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted session was had by all. Fine food, fine libations and unexpectedly humorous tales about oral health. As expected, the time came for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Women, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that chat tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a common queue merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the pure injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised community would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Line

During my time in my line, I tried to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an irksome change, isn't it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a spot. A couple more men entered the end of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She didn’t say anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.