On the main campus, we have all new faucets, toilets, and paper towel dispensers this semester: a wonderful thing indeed. Gone are the days when people had to flush, turn handles, and “pull down” manually. The new fixtures are all motion activated, but the motion has to be extreme or it’s not noticed.
What IS noticed, however, would be the row of adults, all gesturing frantically, begging the water to come on, or turn off, and waving dripping wet hands in the air in supplication, hoping for an inch of towel to peep forth. It’s like a band of St. Vitus Dance victims at a revival. Or a tour of Dutch windmill country during a hefty breeze.
I always feel guilty about leaving the stall before the thing flushes. It always does, but what about the times when there’s a long line, and someone enters the stall before it flushes after the previous pooper? Sometimes, that thing doesn’t flush for a minute or more. Ick. I have this THING about pooping on top of a stranger’s poop. Color me goofy.
Dancing for the bathroom fixtures. As if life didn’t come with enough indignities….
At the regional campus, we have a Men’s restroom and a unisex restroom. If I might impart a word of advice to our female regional campus students, it would be this: Knock before you enter, or you’ll quite likely catch a male student at the urinal. They don’t seem to mind, but most of the women do. Once you are inside, lock the door, unless you want to hear someone enter and start utilizing the urinal, euphemistically speaking.
As for the paper towels at the regional campus, one word comes to mind: Kleenex. That’s right. Just dry your hands on your jeans and try not to think about the wall and floor around that urinal.
I think the regional campus is haunted, but that’s another topic entirely.
P.S. The first urinal I ever saw was in an Indiana University dormitory. Women were being housed in a formerly all-male dorm, and the urinals were still on the walls. We didn’t know what they were, so we hung ferns in them. Purtied up the whole room, it did. Plus the ferns never needed watering; those funny-shaped wall fountains did it all.
About the Writer
Jane Byers Goodwin, AKA Mamacita, is a social media specialist, writer, speaker, internet watchdog, absentminded professor, education advocate/critic, and Mommy. She lives in southern Indiana with two cats and a large husband who puts up with a lot. Her empty nest makes her crazy, so she cranks the music up to eleven to make the house seem full. Catch Mamacita at Scheiss Weekly (http://janegoodwin.net) on Facebook as Jane Byers Goodwin, and on Twitter as @Mamacita.