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Just before Christmas, I had an extraordinary incident. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't important. The present crowd were exclusively male, which is key.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, nice beverages and surprisingly amusing tales about teeth. Naturally, the point came for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it was my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a shared procession only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any modern community would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet reigned. A man came out, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Exchange

A female glided out of the next-door restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to convey recognition of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not blame her.