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In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an unusual situation. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't important. The present party were solely men, which is key.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted session was shared by the group. Fine food, fine drink and unexpectedly entertaining stories about teeth. As expected, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a substantial line 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 Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is limited to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A valuable metric for any modern society would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

A fellow grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a place. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman glided out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

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