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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I believe it did me good. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not pertinent. The attending party were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Good food, fine beverages and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the point dawned for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it came to my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the women glide through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either niceties or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a public line only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised society would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

During my time in my line, I tried to get some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an disagreeable change, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a place. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not fault her.