Gulliver's Potty

After only one and half days back at work, I already have an entertaining, new tale to share.

On Monday, I picked up a half-day assignment working with Mrs. Ifert's kindergarten class. For the first time in my work as a substitute teacher, I worked a half-day that started in the morning and ended in the middle of the school day. Among other things, this meant that I was in charge when it the time came to take the wee beasties to lunch in the middle of the day.

This was a good group of kids, and they caused me no special problems. When working with 5 and 6 year olds, it's to be expected that at least half the kids suffer from the inability to remain in their seats for more than 60 seconds and that at least four students will be as hyperactive as a hummingbird on amphetamines. And this group certainly sported such individuals. But there were no mean-spirited or abnormally recalcitrant rugrats among them and that state of affairs is a wonderful environment in which to be. Those are the times when you can let your guard down a bit and actually have fun being around a baker's dozen of tiny humans.

(For example, during "carpet time" I was supposed to emphasize the importance of vowels and point out that every word has them. To demonstrate the point, I re-read the morning message their teacher had written for them without any of the vowel sounds. The children enjoyed witnessing an adult speak gibberish for 60 seconds.)

Yet, no matter how well-behaved a kindergarten class may be, the teacher must throw mind-building activities at them with a machine gun-like speed of succession. Otherwise even the most eager student could easily be lured away from their school work by any number of colorful objects present in the room. That means the teacher has little time to attend to matters of self-care; namely, going to the bathroom.

Like most kindergarten classes, this one always took its lunch break at 10:30 in the AM. One thing I love about the school I was working at that day, Garden City Elementary, is that 4 of the 6 kindergarten classes are located right next to the cafeteria. As a double bonus, these classrooms also have a bathroom built in so that you don't have to deal with the potential chaos of taking 12-15 little ones to the potty all at once.

I was especially grateful for these two architectural feature's of Mrs. Ifert's room when 10:25 rolled around. Once my body realized I was about to be free of my instructional responsibilities for thirty minutes, it also realized I had to piss like a Hungarian race horse with a swollen prostate. So after I made the brief jaunt back from the cafeteria, I hastily entered the K5 watercloset to find some relief.

Now this isn't the first time I've been in such a bathroom. In my previous experience, these bathrooms have the same kind of toilet you would find in any other restroom, and a small step stool is placed in front of it to assist the kiddos in their efforts to use an adult-sized commode. Not in this restroom, my friends! This bathroom boasted the tiniest, fully functional toilet I've ever seen in my life. It was practically Lilliputian in its dimensions.

A couple of days later, some quick internet research would inform me that the seat for this toilet is only 10" in length. And like many public toilets, it is moored in one corner of the room with handrails anchored beside and behind it. This situation would create such a tight fit for any adult looking to sit on it that the adult would certainly have to turn their body sideways. Fortunately, I am a man and did not need to go #2, so sitting was not a concern for me.

What did become a concern for me as I began the process of going #1 is that a smaller toilet also has a smaller bowl. That in turn means that a kindergarten crapper is designed to hold a much smaller volume of liquid than your conventional john. To cut to the heart of the matter, my business filled the bowl up to the bottom edge of the rim. If I had been drinking that morning, I probably could have overflowed the darn thing. (There's a pleasant thought, eh?) Thanfully, for the sake of my job and the children, I had not been drinking.

The problem of an embarassing overflow in a children's restroom had been averted. But a different problem immediately presented itself. This toilet did not have a handle. It flushed with the help of one of those new fangled laser systems. I, however, am so much taller than your average kindergartener that the laser passed between my legs. Thus when I stepped away from the commode, the toilet did not flush because my presence before it had never been detected.

Panicing ever so slightly at the thought of my students returning to find their toilet nearly brimming with grown-up pee, I began furiously waving my right hand in front of the laser, hoping to trigger a flush. No dice. After repeating this fruitless exercise for 5-10 seconds, a solution occured to me. Sure enough, after holding my hand still in front of the laser for a little while and then removing it, I heard the welcome "whoosh" of the toilet's contents exiting speedily down the drain. With no urine remaining in the bowl (or having escaped to the floor), my minute and a half of concern proved to be unwarranted. I was able to wash my hands and take my own lunch break without giving any further thought to, what I have since come to refer to as, "Gulliver's potty."