My introduction to the public restroom would have been in kindergarten, 1960\u201361. There were issues. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
The first incident involved a pair of undies found in the Boys. Discreetly our teacher or an admin asked each boy to allow them to draw down our waistbands to confirm we were not nude \u2019neath our britches. Since time was of the essence, I don’t recall any parental informed consent. I\u2019m sure the culprit was caught, maybe expelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was later, in first grade, that the Boys became bogeyman. Our teacher Mrs. Stogsdill told us not to ask to use the restroom unless we “really” had to go. Surely I could hold it until recess. It wasn’t “really” that bad. A fellow student noticed the amber pool beneath my cuff. If I’m not mistaken I was given a note penned in Stogsdill’s cursive to be delivered to my parents. (It wasn’t.) I think they may have been informed at a parent-teacher conference. When exactly I might be exposed as a desk-wetter to my parents clouded that school year. Until a third incident, about which below. Either I got all my childhood diseases during the fourth quarter that year or I didn’t like school (I didn’t): I was absent eleven days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wasn’t traumatized by the Boys itself, although I hated open toilet stalls when I “really” had to go No. 2. With No. 1 we were lucky: the urinal. In junior high our shop teacher mentioned he’d heard about urinals for the Girls. Obviously that still was in the day of segregated non-electives: Industrial Arts for us and Home Economics for them. That would change in senior high, and not without a bit of a kerfuffle, I think. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I mention all this because last week YouTube’s algorithm decided I needed to re-view restroom-oriented content, and I learned that public toilet shorts are some of my favorites. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
First, the cartoons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n