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Just before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a tavern enjoying a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice beverages and remarkably humorous tales about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the women breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a public line only for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable metric for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

During my time in my line, I tried to get some male camaraderie started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an disagreeable difference, right lads?”

One person smiled, a second appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence ensued. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a spot. Another two men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A female emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.