The Meaning Behind the ‘WC’ Sign: A Journey Through Bathroom Terminology
Have you ever noticed the letters WC outside a public restroom and wondered what they stand for? You’re not alone—people across the globe often puzzle over this cryptic abbreviation.
The Mystery of WC
Simply put, WC stands for water closet, a term historically used to describe a small room containing a toilet and sometimes a sink. While this might clarify the letters, it doesn’t exactly make the term feel more logical—similar to how “restroom,” “bathroom,” or “loo” can seem perplexing in their own right.
In 2020, a TikTok video featuring a couple named Shelby and Dylan hilariously highlighted the differences in bathroom terminology between Americans and Canadians. Walking past a sign reading washroom, Dylan quipped:
“What in the world is a washroom? And what are they washing in there? Oh, it’s a restroom. The only thing I wash in there is my hands.”
Shelby, off-camera, cheekily countered, “Do you rest in a restroom?”—to which Dylan admitted: “Good point. They both don’t make much sense.”
The video sparked a lively online debate about what to call the sacred space. Some commenters preferred “bathroom,” while others leaned toward “toilet,” “washroom,” or “restroom.”
One person humorously recounted a Disneyland visit where asking for the washroom led them to the laundromat. Another chimed in with, “Wait until he finds out about water closets.”
What Is a Water Closet?
According to Merriam-Webster, a water closet refers to “a compartment or room with a toilet” or “a toilet bowl and its accessories.”
Historically, the term reflects a time when specific rooms served distinct purposes. Bathrooms were for bathing, restrooms for resting or grooming, and the water closet for, well, using the toilet. As indoor plumbing became more common in the late 19th century, these spaces gradually merged into the modern bathroom we know today.
The water closet, however, often remained a separate, enclosed room in some homes and public spaces, particularly in Europe and international facilities. You’ll frequently spot the abbreviation WC in airports, hotels, or restaurants, catering to a globally diverse audience.
WC Across Cultures
Online forums like Reddit often dive into the quirks of global bathroom terminology. One post posed the question, Why is a public WC called a bathroom if there’s no bath?
A user responded:
“Americans might ask, ‘Why is it called a WC if it isn’t even a closet?’”
Others shared cultural takes:
- In Russian, it’s referred to as a room without windows, even if there’s a window.
- In Esperanto, it’s necesejo, meaning “necessary place.”
- Canadians frequently use washroom, which is also popular in parts of the U.S. Midwest.
Restroom vs. Bathroom vs. Washroom
The terminology debate continues, with many feeling washroom is the most logical since washing happens there. Meanwhile, terms like restroom or bathroom remain euphemisms.
One Redditor summed it up best:
“Best one, I think. You should be washing in there—not resting.”
What Do You Call It?
Whether you say WC, restroom, bathroom, toilet, or washroom, everyone has a favorite term. What’s yours? Share your thoughts, and don’t forget to spread this story to find out what others think!
I Returned Home from Work to Find My Adopted Twin Daughters, 16, Had Changed the Locks and Kicked Me Out
Thirteen years ago, I adopted my late husband’s secret twin daughters after his fatal car crash revealed his double life. I gave them everything, but at sixteen, they locked me out of my home. One week later, I discovered the shocking reason for their actions.
The morning Andrew died began like any other. The sun had just started peeking through my window, painting everything in a soft, golden light that made even my shabby countertops look almost magical.
It was the last normal moment I’d have for a long, long time.
A woman in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney
When the phone rang, I almost didn’t answer it. Who calls at 7:30 in the morning? But something, intuition maybe, made me pick up.
“Is this Ruth?” A man’s voice, formal, hesitant.
“Speaking.” I took another sip of coffee, still watching the steam dance.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Matthews with the Police Department. I’m sorry to inform you, but your husband was in an accident this morning. He didn’t survive.”
A shocked woman on a phone call | Source: Midjourney
The mug slipped from my hand, shattering against the linoleum. Coffee splashed across my bare feet, but I barely felt it. “What? No, that’s… no… not my Andrew!”
“Ma’am…” The officer’s voice softened. “There’s more you need to know. There was another woman in the car who also died… and two surviving daughters. Records in our database confirm they’re Andrew’s children.”
I slid down the kitchen cabinet until I hit the floor, barely registering the coffee soaking into my robe.
A woman collapsed in shock | Source: Midjourney
The room spun around me as ten years of marriage shattered like my coffee mug. “Children?”
“Twin girls, ma’am. They’re three years old.”
Three years old. Three years of lies, of business trips and late meetings. Three years of another family living parallel to mine, just out of sight. The jerk had been living a whole other life while I’d been suffering through infertility treatments and the heartache of two miscarriages.
Close up of a shocked woman’s face | Source: Midjourney
“Ma’am? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure I was. Not really. “What… what happens to them now?”
“Their mother had no living relatives. They’re currently in emergency foster care until—”
I hung up. I couldn’t bear to hear more.
A cell phone | Source: Pexels
The funeral was a blur of black clothes and pitying looks. I stood there like a statue, accepting condolences from people who didn’t know whether to treat me like a grieving widow or a scorned woman.
But then I saw those two tiny figures in matching black dresses, holding hands so tightly their knuckles were white. My husband’s secret daughters.
One had her thumb in her mouth. The other was picking at the hem of her dress. They looked so lost and alone. Despite the hurt of Andrew’s betrayal, my heart went out to them.
Twin three-year-old girls | Source: Midjourney
“Those poor things,” my mother whispered beside me. “Their foster family couldn’t make it today. Can you imagine? No one here for them except the social worker.”
I watched as one twin stumbled, and her sister caught her automatically like they were two parts of the same person. Something in my chest cracked open.
“I’ll take them,” I heard myself say.
Mom turned to me, shocked.
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
“Ruth, honey, you can’t be serious. After what he did?”
“Look at them, Mom. They’re innocent in all this and they’re alone.”
“But—”
“I couldn’t have my own children. Maybe… maybe this is why.”
The adoption process was a nightmare of paperwork and questioning looks.
A woman and a man going through paperwork in an office | Source: Pexels
Why would I want my cheating husband’s secret children? Was I mentally stable enough? Was this some form of revenge?
But I kept fighting, and eventually, Carrie and Dana became mine.
Those first years were a dance of healing and hurting. The girls were sweet but wary as if waiting for me to change my mind. I’d catch them whispering to each other late at night, making plans for “when she sends us away.”
It broke my heart every time.
A woman standing outside a bedroom door | Source: Midjourney
“We’re having mac and cheese again?” seven-year-old Dana asked one night, her nose wrinkled.
“It’s what we can afford this week, sweetie,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “But look — I put extra cheese on yours, just how you like it.”
Carrie, always the more sensitive one, must have heard something in my voice. She elbowed her sister.
“Mac and cheese is my favorite,” she announced, though I knew it wasn’t.
A bowl of macaroni and cheese | Source: Pexels
By the time they turned ten, I knew I had to tell them the truth. The whole truth.
I’d practiced the words a hundred times in front of my bathroom mirror, but sitting there on my bed, watching their innocent faces, I felt like I might throw up.
“Girls,” I started, my hands trembling. “There’s something about your father and how you came to be my daughters that you need to know.”
They sat cross-legged on my faded quilt, mirror images of attention.
Twin ten-year-old girls sitting on a bed | Source: Midjourney
I told them everything about Andrew’s double life, their birth mother, and that terrible morning I got the call. I told them how my heart broke when I saw them at the funeral and how I knew then that we were meant to be together.
The silence that followed felt endless. Dana’s face had gone pale, her freckles standing out like dots of paint. Carrie’s lower lip trembled.
“So… so Dad was a liar?” Dana’s voice cracked. “He was cheating on you?”
A shocked girl | Source: Midjourney
“And our real mom…” Carrie wrapped her arms around herself. “She died because of him?”
“It was an accident, sweetheart. A terrible accident.”
“But you…” Dana’s eyes narrowed, something hard and horrible creeping into her young face. “You just took us? Like… like some kind of consolation prize?”
A frowning girl | Source: Midjourney
“No! I took you because—”
“Because you felt sorry for us?” Carrie interrupted, tears streaming now. “Because you couldn’t have your own kids?”
“I took you because I loved you the moment I saw you,” I reached for them, but they both flinched back. “You weren’t a consolation prize. You were a gift.”
A woman explaining herself | Source: Midjourney
“Liar!” Dana spat, jumping off the bed. “Everyone’s a liar! Come on, Carrie!”
They ran to their room and slammed the door. I heard the lock click, followed by muffled sobs and furious whispers.
The next few years were a minefield. Sometimes we’d have good days when we went on shopping trips or cuddled together on the sofa for movie nights. But whenever they got angry, the knives came out.
A teen girl shouting in her bedroom doorway | Source: Midjourney
“At least our real mom wanted us from the start!”
“Maybe she’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you!”
Each barb found its mark with surgical precision. But they were entering their teens, so I weathered their storms, hoping they’d understand someday.
Then came that awful day shortly after the girls turned sixteen.
A woman glancing over her shoulder | Source: Midjourney
I came home from work and my key wouldn’t turn in the lock. Then I spotted the note taped to the door.
“We’re adults now. We need our own space. Go and live with your mom!” it read.
My suitcase sat by the door like a coffin for all my hopes. Inside, I could hear movement, but no one answered my calls or pounding. I stood there for an hour before climbing back into my car.
A woman in her car | Source: Midjourney
At Mom’s house, I paced like a caged animal.
“They’re acting out,” she said, watching me wear a path in her carpet. “Testing your love.”
“What if it’s more than that?” I stared at my silent phone. “What if they’ve finally decided I’m not worth it? That I’m just the woman who took them in out of pity?”
“Ruth, you stop that right now.” Mom grabbed my shoulders.
A stern woman | Source: Midjourney
“You’ve been their mother in every way that matters for thirteen years. They’re hurting, yes. They’re angry about things neither of you can change. But they love you.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because they’re acting exactly like you did at sixteen.” She smiled sadly. “Remember when you ran away to Aunt Sarah’s?”
I did. I’d been so angry about… what was it? Something trivial. I’d lasted three days before homesickness drove me back.
A worried woman | Source: Midjourney
Five more days crawled by.
I called in sick to work. I barely ate. Every time my phone buzzed, I lunged for it, only to be disappointed by another spam call or a text from a concerned friend.
Then, finally, on the seventh day, I got the call I’d longed for.
“Mom?” Carrie’s voice was small and soft, like when she used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms. “Can you come home? Please?”
A woman on a phone call | Source: Midjourney
I drove back with my heart in my throat.
The last thing I expected when I rushed through the front door was to find my house transformed. Fresh paint coated the walls, and the floors gleamed.
“Surprise!” The girls appeared from the kitchen, grinning like they used to when they were little.
“We’ve been planning this for months,” Dana explained, bouncing on her toes. “Working at the mall, babysitting, saving everything.”
A grinning teen girl | Source: Midjourney
“Sorry for the mean note,” Carrie added sheepishly. “It was the only way we could think of to keep it a surprise.”
They led me to what used to be their nursery, now transformed into a beautiful home office. The walls were soft lavender, and there, by the window, hung a photo of the three of us on adoption day, all teary-eyed and smiling.
“You gave us a family, Mom,” Carrie whispered, her eyes wet. “Even though you didn’t have to, even though we were a reminder of everything that hurt. You chose us anyway, and you’ve been the best mom ever.”
An emotional girl holding back tears | Source: Midjourney
I pulled my girls close, breathing in the familiar smell of their shampoo, feeling their hearts beat against mine.
“You two are the best things that have ever happened to me. You gave me a reason to keep going. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”
“But we do know, Mom,” Dana said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “We’ve always known.”
A woman hugging her daughter | Source: Midjourney
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