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Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an unusual episode. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, fine libations and unexpectedly entertaining stories about oral health. Inevitably, the point came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is limited to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A valuable measure for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Returning to my queue, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie started about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome difference, right lads?”

Someone smiled, another looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a spot. A couple more men entered the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A lady glided out of the next-door facility, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not fault her.