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In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an unusual situation. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The assembled party were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, good beverages and surprisingly amusing tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the women breeze through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a public line merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A valuable metric for any modern society would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

Back in my line, I tried to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this is an irksome change, right lads?”

A fellow chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. An individual emerged, zipping up. The group shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman glided out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not blame her.