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In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I believe it did me good. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Nice cuisine, fine libations and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment dawned for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the ladies' room, 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 knew.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession merely for the chance to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy metric for any advanced culture would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some brotherly banter going about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable variation, isn't it boys?”

Someone grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more example of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The line moved forward a position. Two more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A female glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to express recognition of this reversed situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.