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Shortly before the festive season, I had an unusual situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not important. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, fine drink and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the moment dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a shared procession merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A valuable measure for any advanced community would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to get some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. Someone emerged, zipping up. The line shuffled up a place. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A woman emerged out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, trying to convey recognition of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I really would not censure her.