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Just before the festive season, I encountered an remarkable episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The present group were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Good food, nice drink and remarkably entertaining stories about teeth. As expected, the point arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s only at the sinks later that conversation tends to break out.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a public line simply for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A valuable metric for any advanced society would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Well, this is an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow smiled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. An individual exited, zipping up. The line shuffled up a position. A couple more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A female glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not fault her.