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In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an unusual incident. I think it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but it's not relevant. The attending group were solely men, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Good cuisine, good beverages and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the moment came for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a shared procession simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A useful metric for any advanced community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I tried to get some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this represents an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

One person smiled, a second looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a spot. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.