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Shortly before the holidays, I had an unusual situation. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not important. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Fine fare, fine beverages and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a shared procession simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced society would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an irksome difference, right boys?”

Someone smiled, a second looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. Someone came out, zipping up. The group advanced a place. A couple more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A lady emerged out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.