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Shortly before Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not important. The present party were solely men, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A lost session was shared by the group. Nice food, good beverages and remarkably entertaining stories about dentistry. Naturally, the moment came for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the women glide through the door while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue communication is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any modern society would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

A fellow smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. An individual exited, zipping up. The line shuffled up a spot. Two more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman glided out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the time.”

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