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Shortly before the festive season, I had an remarkable episode. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't important. The present crowd were solely men, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, nice drink and unexpectedly humorous stories about teeth. Naturally, the time came for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is confined to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Well, this makes an unpleasant change, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person grinned, another appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence reigned. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a place. Two more men entered the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Exchange

A lady wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t blame her.