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Just before Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I think it did me good. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't relevant. The present crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was had by all. Good fare, nice drink and remarkably entertaining tales about oral health. Naturally, the moment came for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the women breeze through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is limited to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a shared procession simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A handy metric for any advanced society would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Banter in the Line

Back in my line, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, another looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Interaction

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really would not censure her.