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In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The attending crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice drink and unexpectedly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the point arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an notable observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful metric for any civilised culture would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant variation, right lads?”

One person grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. Someone exited, zipping up. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this reversed situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not blame her.