Under The Cubicle Door

[Robert Brooks]

Another one from me:

Under The Cubicle Door


For a short while, just a matter of weeks before it was superseded by something the very next school term that would make it fade into insignificance, this was the most embarrassing thing to happen to me.

It was spring term, year five of primary school (in England) so I would have been nine-and-a-half years old. At that age I was rather a shy, reserved kid and although I had a few close friends, there were many more boys and even girls in my class that I really didn’t like as they were forever making fun of me. One of the worst of these ‘mean boys’ was Jason.

It was near the end of morning break and for the first time in a long time I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to use the school toilets. I had always hated using the toilet at school and would try to avoid it if I possibly could, though admittedly the boys toilets at my primary school were infinitely better than the truly disgusting ones I would encounter at my senior school two years later.

Being the shy, easily embarrassed kid I was, wether I need to pee or do the thing I didn’t even like to mention, I would always lock myself in a cubicle whilst I ‘used the facilities’, as my family would oh-so-politely put it. I had been in there maybe less than a minute and had just sat myself down, my trousers and pants bunched around my ankles, when I heard the door to the bathroom open.

I hated trying to use the toilet when I knew there was someone else in there with me. I froze, listening to the stranger’s footsteps, trying to work out if they would be staying long. I heard no sound of a zip fly being undone or the door to the other cubicle opening. There was no rush of water from the sink or the sound of the towel roll being yanked as this mystery intruder dried their hands. For a few seconds there was no sound at all. From all I could hear they had simply entered the bathroom and then stood still in the middle of the room. I had no clue what they were doing or what they were about to do.

Then without any warning at all, a grinning face suddenly appeared through the little gap between my cubicle door and the floor. It was Jason! The little bastard had crouched down on his hands and knees on the filthy wet floor just to get a good look at me on the toilet! I was so shocked and embarrassed that for a few seconds (that seemed to last several minutes) all I could do was sit there, eyes wide and mouth open, paralysed with indignity and humiliation.

Jason on the other hand was clearly having a great time, judging by the look of triumphant glee plastered all over his big stupid face as he looked me up and down, finally focusing his gaze upon the underpants stretched between my legs—the kind of underpants no boy of nine, going on ten wants to be seen in, least of all by bullies like Jason. I saw his eyes light up as he realised what kind of pants I had on, they were definitely not the ones I would ever choose to wear on a p.e. day. I can still hear his ecstatic reaction as clear as if he’d yelled it yesterday.

“BOBBY WEARS YELLOW PANTS! BOBBY WEARS YELLOW PANTS!”

Laughing heartily, he quickly scrambled to his feet and dashed from the dark and dingy boys toilets, still happily exclaiming to the world exactly what sort of underwear I had on that day.

I was absolutely mortified. In the hierarchy of boys underwear, for some reason yellow briefs were among the most embarrassing pants to be seen in, after of course cartoon briefs of any colour and possibly plain white, though they and yellow seemed about equal. Even at that young age, the trend for wearing ‘grown up’ boxers was beginning to creep in—Jason and a few of his mates for example had been in boxers for almost a year—but if you had to be seen wearing good old ‘little boy’ briefs, plain darker colours were always preferable to bright ones like yellow.

‘Great,’ I thought to myself, ‘if I know Jason, which I probably do, he’s going to go round the whole place telling anyone who’ll listen about me on the toilet and my yellow pants.’

I was quite right to assume that’s what he would do—the big stupid blabbermouth! When the bell rang for end of break and we all lined up on the playground ready to file back into our classrooms, as soon as he saw me approach the line he announced in a ridiculous circus master kind of voice: “Here he comes! It’s yellow pants boy! Show everyone your yellow pants, yellow pants boy!”

Quite a few people laughed, including most embarrassingly, the group of girls who sat at my table. I just kept my head down and hurried to the back of the line, my face on fire from the incredible humiliation as I felt all eyes upon me.

Underwear had always been a very private, embarrassing thing for me, something to be kept absolutely hidden at all times and never referred to out loud. Whenever changing for p.e I would pull my shirt down low and get it over with as fast as I possibly could, affording no-one more than a fleeting glimpse, if that. The very idea of being seen in my underpants or even just people knowing what sort of underwear I had on greatly embarrassed me. Now, thanks to sodding Jason spying on me in the toilets, every boy and girl in my class knew exactly what style and colour undies I was wearing! It was as if they all had been given special x-ray glasses that allowed them to see straight through my trousers.

I found it hard to concentrate on lessons that afternoon, afraid that at any moment Jason or somebody else I didn’t like was going to reach into my trousers and wedgie my yellow briefs up my back for all to see. Thankfully no-one did, though once or twice I thought I saw Jason whispering something to his best mate Reece, both sniggered as they looked in my direction.