Ep 3: Privy 2020
Privy Matters: Why We Call It a Bathroom and Not the Thunderbox (But We Should)
Let’s be honest — the word Thunderbox absolutely slaps. Whatever ungodly noise echoed off the walls to earn that name? That person earned the right to call it whatever they wanted. Respect.
Welcome to Privy, a podcast about toilets — recorded from a toilet. Yes, really. I'm Hunter Hoover, and I've seen, heard, and smelled more toilet-related things than a medieval chambermaid. And look, I get it. Toilets aren’t considered high-brow conversation. They’re not art, they’re not politics... unless you’re talking about public toilet funding (but we’re not).
But here at Privy, we take this business seriously. As seriously as someone locking eyes with Deborah the Pot Carrier as they hand off a sloshing bowl of yesterday's stew. Metaphorically. And maybe literally, in 1225.
Late But Flushin' Onward
This episode’s running late — not unlike someone who ignored the call of nature one too many times. But here we are: Episode 3. And we’re talking bathroom lingo. Specifically, why we call it the “bathroom”... when, let’s be honest, most public restrooms don’t have a bath. If they do, please call someone. That’s not a bathroom. That’s a crime scene.
Potty Talk: The Linguistic Showdown
So, I called it a potty the other day. I have small children, which means the word “potty” is as common in my house as spilled Cheerios and existential exhaustion. But my coworker gave me The Look™. You know the one — the "are you five?" face.
Cue a deep philosophical argument. “Why not ‘potty’?” I asked. He replied, “You just called it a bathroom. Checkmate.” I immediately walked away. Debate over.
From Baths to Business: The Evolution of the Term
Back in ye olden days, a bathroom was literally where you took a bath. Groundbreaking, I know. But as people started preferring indoor plumbing over wind-chilled cheeks, the term "bathroom" started including toilets. Even if no bathtub was involved. It was a polite fiction. Like “restroom.” Ain’t nobody resting in there. Unless they passed out.
Fun fact: If you had to put on shoes to get to your toilet, it wasn’t a bathroom. It was something... darker. Wilder. We’ll get there.
The Name Game: AKA Poop Synonyms Through the Ages
Here’s a lightning round of names people have used for the place of porcelain:
The Chamber Pot – It’s a pot. You do your business. Then someone else, usually unpaid and underappreciated, takes it away. Hope they wore an apron.
The Little House – For fans of rustic charm and indoor drafts.
The Head – Skipped. Too nautical. Too confusing. Too many ship jokes.
The John – RIP to every guy named John who’s been joked about since 1873.
The Water Closet – Fancy. French. Sounds like something you’d find in Versailles.
The Earth Closet – Literal dirt involved. Sounds sustainable. Smells... not.
The Dunny – Australia, you did something right here.
The Throne – Now you’re just flattering us.
The Honey Pot – Misleading name. Not Winnie-the-Pooh friendly.
The Thunderbox – See beginning. Glorious.
The Crapper – Named after Thomas Crapper. Yes, that’s real. No, he didn’t invent the toilet. Yes, it’s still funny.
The Privy – Now we’re talkin’.
The Privy: Your Medieval Alone Time
First recorded in 1225, “privy” came from the French privé, meaning intimate or private. This was a time when “privacy” didn’t exist. People lived like sardines and smelled like medieval fair food. So a spot where you could sit, pants around ankles, alone? That was luxury.
And let’s not forget the unsung heroes: Deborahs of the world. Chamber pot emptiers. They didn’t ask for this life. They didn’t dream of this job. And yet, they served. So using the privy — the actual outhouse behind the house — was not only practical. It was kind. Don't dump on Deborah, literally.
Is the Privy Archaic? Maybe. Should We Bring It Back? Absolutely.
The word privy fell out of fashion once indoor plumbing arrived. (Deborahs everywhere rejoiced.) It got replaced by outhouse, porta-potty, even the dreaded “Porta-John.” But privy? It’s timeless. It’s respectful. It’s got a little class. It says, “I see you, Deborah. I care.”
