I lose faith in the future of humanity every time I enter a university library bathroom.
You would think that by the ages between 18 and 21, human beings pursuing higher knowledge and waiting to enter the great, big world in search of lucrative careers and one-night stands, would know how to use a chair with a hole in it; presumably a sort of excretion-managing facility that they’ve been taught to use and have been using for the past 16 or so years.
Women don’t even need to aim.
And yet, apparently we do.
Every time I enter the library bathrooms, my gag reflexes are stand-by as I hold my breath and begin to poke through the 6 or so stalls, anticipating a post-culinary-exploration disaster to be found.
You always can prepare yourself for the sights you may see, but you can never actually be prepared.
There are times when I go through all six stalls and – while with a bladder on the cusp of drowning – find myself standing there in this fecal abyss trying to figure out how individuals expected to produce great theses, contribute to the research factory my university, and somehow lead adult-lives, can possibly not know that urine is supposed to go into the bowl and not onto the seat. Or floor.
I can imagine it being a bit of a tough feat for men – I’m not sure how their questionable contraption works, but I cannot imagine it being so terribly easy to handle. Women, on the other hand, are only required to sit down.
Or squat, at the most uncomfortable and even that doesn’t require much effort, let alone possibility for mistakes.
It’s really not tough unless you have knee problems, which I think many girls have at my university. There may be a correlation between their knee problems and their inflated grades.
I understand that some times the flush doesn’t work. That’s unfortunate for everyone involved. Especially maintenance. But if the flush isn’t working it’s usually because you’ve filled up the toilet a little too much.
Perhaps too much toilet paper. Perhaps too much dinner.