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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an unusual episode. I think it did me good. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The assembled party were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, fine drink and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the point dawned for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both niceties or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised culture would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something like: “Well, this makes an unpleasant change, right lads?”

A fellow chuckled, a second looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a place. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A female wafted out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.