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Just before Christmas, I had an extraordinary situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The attending group were solely men, which is significant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten session was had by all. Good cuisine, fine drink and surprisingly entertaining tales about teeth. Naturally, the time arrived for trips to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

On this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is confined to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins later that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a public line simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable metric for any advanced society would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

During my time in my line, I tried to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant variation, right lads?”

One person smiled, another looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was a further example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A woman wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I may give you the time.”

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