Disclaimer: Yesterday began with a revelation; this morning began with an excretion (not my own). If you don’t enjoy gross things as much as I do, you may want to instead look at this link instead of reading further.
Waking from 3 hours of sleep, I stumbled into the shower and had mustered a meager dowsing (college dorms are not known for their high-flow shower heads) when I noticed that something didn’t smell right. In fact, something smelled downright unsanitary. Squinting down at the drain, I leaned closer in an attempt to counteract my myopia (and pre-contact lenses grogginess) and…wait, is that? No…
Whatever you want to call it, I sprinted as fast as I could out of there, nearly dropping my towel as I left a dripping getaway trail connecting one co-ed restroom to another.
I enjoy scatological humor just as much as the average person…Er, ok I enjoy scatological humor significantly more than the average person. But there is a fine line between shouting, “Poop!” in a crowded party to ease the social tension and shitting in the shower. No wait, it’s not a fine line, it’s a fucking eight-lane super-highway.
When I was a freshman I thought it was so rad that most students at MIT live in the same dorm for four years. But seriously, if I thought a 400-pound cement octagon oscillating overhead was a stiff price to pay for “community”, I have now been pushed over the edge. It’s the small brown lump festering in the wrong plumbing installment that breaks the camel’s back.
I can’t wait until I can get out of this place and finally realize my calling as a mountain woman, marathoner, and lover of literature. But until then…pass the PBR, please.