(~6 minutes to read)
It seems that there will be more than a tinkle going on in the school washrooms in the Swedish town of Tingsryd. A councillor has proposed piped music as a way of catering to students who worry about the noises they might make when they use the facilities.
Disclosure. Although I’m presenting the subject in a facetious (faecetious?) style, please understand that I regard it as a serious matter—a health concern as well as a wellbeing issue.
The story may have tickled me, but I realized that it highlights a widespread problem. (The city of Madrid is tackling another widespread problem—“manspreading”—but I digress.)
The problem exists in Scandinavia—that much is obvious from the report; and I know it exists in the UK and Canada. I personally know of youths who “bottle it up” (figuratively, I hasten to add) until they get home or somewhere else less public.
But why?
If you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go. It’s nature. Everybody pees. Everybody poops. That includes your grandmother, the Queen, Justin Bieber, Matt Damon, Keira Knightley, Michael Buble…
Yep.
Yet we’ve developed this pretence that we don’t. I know of people who wouldn’t go big jobs for days if they’re away from home.
Confession. I think twice about going twosies in a public washroom where the gap between the door and its frame permits a view. But I can justify that reluctance. An eight year-old boy named Tyrone (I know that because he introduced himself!) tried to have an entire conversation with me in a restaurant washroom one morning in Spuzzum, BC. I was enthroned; he was standing outside the stall, peering through the gap at me. This was in June 1984; if your name is Tyrone, you turn 41 in 2017, and you remember a conversation with a Brit in Spuzzum in June 1984… thanks buddy!
Whether it was changing attitudes to modesty, the consequences of city crowding caused by industrialization, the increasing availability of water closets (toilets to the uninitiated), or some other reason, I can’t say, (and I don’t get paid enough to do proper research,) but prior to the Victorian era, one just went about one’s business—a messy one perhaps, but necessary and unavoidable.
Nowadays, some people seem to think that it should be un-voidable.
We live in an age where (in the western world at least), we have clean, hygienic, sweet-smelling toilet facilities. Attitudes to just about every other form of private human activity have become more liberal over the last fifty years. Yet our attitudes to this most natural and necessary of functions are stuck in the 1800s. Anal retention, quite literally. The room containing a toilet has more euphemistic names and pseudonyms than all other rooms combined. We’re embarrassed by bodily functions that we all have to perform.
This reluctance to acknowledge our need to attend to our necessaries could also be a class issue. In a time when sanitation was less widely available, those who were dirty and smelled were “obviously” poor. None of us wants to be mistaken for poor, do we: so we do our best not to acknowledge any connection between us and our poop.
At my elementary school in East London in the 1960s, we had outdoor toilets, and the boys’ urinal consisted of a four-foot-high porcelain wall with a trough or gutter at its base. I have (fond?) memories of my friends competing to see if we could pee above the porcelain and onto the brickwork above it. At junior high, we had indoor toilets, and it was rumoured that the second years (Year eight? Grade eight?) would stick the first years’ heads down the toilet and flush, as a “welcome” gesture. Back then it was called an initiation; these days, it’d probably come under “hazing”. I’m happy to report that I never participated in that particular ceremony, as initiator or initiate.
In my home town here in Canada, folk had to make do with well water and outhouses until 1952. The remains of the honey wagon are, as far as I know, still parked outside the Sewage Treatment Works. Outhouses may not have been the nicest places to go, but they served an important purpose—sanitary collection of human waste.
Today, outhouses are a common sight in parks, roadside rest areas and other places. Porta-potties (portaloos in the UK) are indispensable in many places and events. A significant percentage of people (in my experience) either refuse or are reluctant to use such facilities. I’m happy to use them provided that (a) the seat looks clean, and (b) the door locks properly.
We all draw our lines in the sand on any contentious subject. On this one, I draw the line at privacy and a clean seat. Oh—and enough TP to complete the paperwork. North American toilet stalls make me feel vulnerable, thanks to Tyrone, although I probably would have noticed my vulnerability without his help.
As for the noise and odour—it’s a toilet for heaven’s sake! That’s why it’s located in a bathroom or in its own room and not in the study or dining room.
I admire the Swedish councillor who is trying to do something positive to get the youth of her town going properly. There should be more initiatives like that. Better still—we as a society need to get over our hang-ups about this important business.
In the meantime, if the music helps with the sound effects, the town of Tingryd (and others interested in the elimination of this stigma) should consider the use of a product such as “Poo-Pourri” to combat the odour issue. I’m not connected or associated with the company that makes it, but I do know that it’s effective, and I recommend it.
And heavens—they share my views about conventions and taboos!
People—why not carry a Poo-pourri in your purse or pocket. Next time you need to take care of business outside the home, play some music on the speakers of your smartphone and spritz the bowl with Poo-Pourri, then sit and relax!
Once we’ve got over the social taboos, we’ll move on to making outhouses and portable toilets more acceptable to the squeamish.
Somehow.
And parents—please, please please… encourage your children to “go” at school, and to respect the privacy and sensitivities of their fellow students. The chances of them contracting cholera or typhoid or dengue fever (or whatever) in a well-kept facility are smaller than the chances of their Language Arts teacher doing a trapeze act on the classroom ceiling during an exam. But the chances of them doing themselves damage from “bottling it up” aren’t.
I’m off to the bathroom now, with my Poo-pourri and collection of toilet music.
“What’s on my playlist?” you ask. Here’s a sample.
- In the Closet (Michael Jackson)
- Handel’s Water (closet) Music
- Making Your Mind Up (Bucks Fizz)
- All I Really Want to Do (Cher)
- Blowing in the Wind (Peter Paul and Mary)
- I’m Still Waiting (Diana Ross)
- Help! (Beatles)
- Thunderstruck (AC/DC)
- It Ain’t What You Do It’s the Way that You Do It (Bananarama)
- Looking After Number One (Boomtown Rats)
- This Town Ain’t Big Enough For Both of Us
- I Can’t Keep It In (Cat Stevens)
- Like Clockwork (Gosh!—the Boomtown Rats inspire me! Although “Someone’s Looking at You” might ruin the moment, wouldn’t it, Tyrone.)
- Bad (Michael Jackson)
- Another One Bites the Dust (Queen)
- It’s All Over Now (Rolling Stones)