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In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I believe it did me good. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not important. The attending crowd were solely men, which is relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A lost session was had by all. Good food, good libations and remarkably humorous anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to wait in a public line merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A useful measure for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

During my time in my line, I tried to get some male camaraderie going about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “So, this represents an disagreeable change, isn't it boys?”

Someone smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a spot. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A female glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.