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Just before the holidays, I had an unusual situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't important. The attending crowd were solely men, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, good libations and remarkably humorous tales about dentistry. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women glide through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Females, I presume, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on either small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to queue in a public line merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable metric for any modern community would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie started about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Ah, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

A fellow smiled, a second appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a place. Another two men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady emerged out of the next-door facility, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to express recognition of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.