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Just before Christmas, I had an remarkable situation. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is significant.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Good fare, fine drink and remarkably amusing anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the moment dawned for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it became me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the rare weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised society would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie started about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable change, right chaps?”

One person grinned, a second looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a spot. Two more men joined the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman glided out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.