The Seeker

A Meta-Cognitive Journal About Writing… Plus Other Stuff

Back to School– Day 16

with one comment

This is what happens when you spend too much time on a college campus:  Your sophisticated sense of humor and insightful writing is reduced to bathroom talk.  For those of you who are already making plans to leave comments along the lines of, “what sophisticated humor?  what insightful writing?  did I miss something?”…  go ahead.  I ain’t gonna stop you!

The bathroom situation has improved, which is to say it hasn’t gotten any worse.  The maintenance crew is replacing the toilet, but it’s proving more difficult than imagined.  So now I get to trek all the way down the hall, and sometimes to the other side, to use the facilities.  Once I saw the maintenance crew at work, I told them I already had designs on being the first person to clog the new fixture.  Told them I was eating loads of circus peanuts and granola, backing it up with more pasta and Mexican food than they could imagine.  One of the guys quipped that cellphones, bottle caps, and silverware also help quite a bit.  I told him there was no way I was going to eat any of those.

Renovations are under way at Satan's Porcelain Palace!

 I’m not the only one with issues about the bathrooms.  Way on the other end of the hall, my friend Suzann has had enough.  We’re basically a set of bookends on the third floor–  I’m all the way down in 301 (I call my room The Dead End), she’s in 334A, we’re both here all month, both high school teachers, both in fiction workshops, and we both have had our share of frustrations with the facilities.  She vented her anger by posting this poem in the stall on her end:

This poem is for the bathroom


There are no wastebaskets.

We have begged for them.

Don’t bother.


Yes, the shower is gross.

Did you bring flipflops?


Whoever you are, the one who’s squatting on the toilet,

stop it.

Or at least wipe up your freakin pee on the seat.


A time will come when you will realize you are sitting here

and there is no more toilet paper.  In that moment you will

wonder why you paid so much money to come here.  These

questions are existential.  Call the extension on the mirror,

and bitch for all you’re worth.


Someone on the other end will say to you, “Ma’am, this isn’t a hotel,” and

at that point,

you’re on your own.


Written by seeker70

July 19, 2011 at 9:34 am

Posted in Uncategorized

One Response

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  1. I’m smiling.


    July 26, 2011 at 10:25 pm

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