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Just before the festive season, I had an extraordinary incident. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't important. The assembled party were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Nice food, fine drink and unexpectedly entertaining stories about oral health. As expected, the moment arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the women breeze through the portal while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my mates, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is limited to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to wait in a public line simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced society would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter going about this new circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “So, this represents an disagreeable variation, right chaps?”

One person grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was a further example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet prevailed. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the end of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not blame her.