An Archaeologist Asks: What's in Your Toilet?

My hand plunged into the hall bathroom toilet, but that didn't work. A straightened-out wire hanger just might. And so with this home-made tool, my son and I poked and jabbed in an attempt to retrieve what he’d lost. Silence, and then a buzz! from deep within the mysterious workings of the porcelain bowl. I leaped backwards, surprised that this thing was alive after so many days submerged, there beneath the eau de toilette.

Something had to be done. It had plugged up the works. Shower water refused to drain. Toilets filled alarmingly to the brim and then slowly receded. I fretted about a dishwasher back-up. So we went fishing in our toilet bowl.

Down in the Dumper
“History is written by the victor,” some victor once said. History is also left behind in the latrines of our ancestors. As an amateur archaeologist, I’ve contemplated the question, “What’s in your toilet?” On digs to explore the meaning of prehistoric hunting camps or 19th century military outposts, our goal is to interpret what we find and place it within the context of human history.

Sometimes the most compelling stuff we find is in the toilets of our ancestors. Yup, you heard me: the latrine, potty, outhouse, throne, crapper. Today’s waste is often tomorrow’s propitious historic find.

Back in the day, people simply tossed garbage in the toilet. There were no ordinances or societal pressure against illegal dumping (ahem). Old time waste pits are an exceptional source of not only the icky, but also the bits and pieces of everyday life.

And Now a Little History Lesson
On a recent dig at the abandoned Fort Ruby in Nevada’s Ruby Mountains, porcelain doll heads, belt buckles, kitchen pottery and all manner of the everyday life of soldiers and their families has been dug up – much of it from the Fort’s former outhouses. Built in 1862, Fort Ruby was established to protect U.S. interests in the area – Pony Express, stage coaches and emigrant travel -- from Comanche attacks.

Meanwhile Back in the 21st Century
A call to the Roto Rooter guy cleared things up, though he never actually saw the culprit -- a slim electric razor -- float out the clean-out drain.

Who knows? In 150 years, some archaeologist might dig up my latrine and find this shaver still abuzz and wonder, “Why’s this in the toilet?”

You know what? I’m wondering the same thing right now, but I'm not sure I want to know.