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Just before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable incident. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, good drink and remarkably amusing stories about oral health. Inevitably, the time dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d waste no time on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter going about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant change, right chaps?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a place. Two more men joined the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A lady emerged out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not blame her.