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Shortly before the holidays, I had an remarkable situation. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not relevant. The present crowd were solely men, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a tavern doing a brisk business. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Good food, fine drink and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the point came for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is confined to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A useful metric for any civilised society would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone grinned, another looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. A man exited, zipping up. The queue advanced a spot. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not blame her.