An Open Letter to the Main Library Facilities Management

Hey guys,

Let me start out by saying that I know y’all have a tough job. I get it, homies. Main Library is a large, confusing building and also one of the ugliest things ever conceived by the human mind. And, as far as I can tell, the facilities management staff has zero employees. So I understand that you have kind of a tall mountain to climb in your quest to, you know, do your job.

But Jesus CHRIST guys. I don’t know that I’ve been witness to so much rampant incompetence and obvious lack of hustle since I saw JerShon Cobb wearing a “Lazy but Talented” shirt in Plex dining hall[1]. And I think maybe we need to talk about it.

An Open Letter to That Girl in the Next Stall Clearly Trying to Poop

Dear Anonymous Female Bathroom Stall Neighbor,

Please, drop the act. I know what you’re doing. I know why you’re here.

You’re not researching the sturdiness of public toilets. You’re not admiring the stall graffiti and wondering why someone thought to bring a pen in there with them. This is a bathroom, and you are here because you need to take a dump.

An Open Letter to the Period

Dear Period,

In case this letter got sent to the wrong Period, I would just like to make it clear that this letter is addressed to the womanly type of period, not the punctuation type.

Now that that’s over with, I’ll begin. Period, I understand that nothing I can say or do can really change the fact that I have to deal with you…deal with you, or a fetus growing inside me.

9 Reasons Going to the Movies Alone is Actually Super Rad

You’re basically the MLK Jr. of film-goers.

While I fully appreciate the convenience of Netflix, Hulu, and Comcast On Demand, I usually prefer to see movies in the theater. A trip to the theater is an event. Movie theaters provide a change in scenery, access to the grossest foods you could dream of, and a much-needed break from my nonexistent life at Northwestern.

Luckily, here at Northwestern, there are literally thousands of nerds to choose from when it comes to finding a movie buddy.  There was no shortage of people to accompany me to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I, The Lion King in 3D, and Wreck-it Ralph. I even managed to find a person with whom I could watch trees, cosmic swirls, and a stern-looking Brad Pitt on a loop for 139 minutes in The Tree of Life.

Liveblogging The Great Bathroom Flood of ‘012

[As a surge of water fills the Elder second floor girls bathroom, Sherman Ave Elder correspondent Ammonia$ta Dribbling will provide live updates from the dorm. Unless The Great Bathroom Flood of ‘012 takes out the Internetz, in which case FUCK IT WE’LL DO IT LIVE. More updates to come!]

UPDATE: SUNDAY NOV 4, 2012, 8:20 PM

In an extremely anticlimactic turn of events, I woke up this morning. I am alive, there is no water in my room, and the bathroom looks like as if nothing ever happened. I am actually surprised at how quickly things have been resolved. Props to Northwestern’s maintenance crews.

To be honest, I was kind of hoping there’d be some water in my room. Preferably near my backpack (which I purposely moved closer to the door last night) that is filled with my Spanish homework. I spent a lot of time last night fantasizing about getting to say “Lo siento, Profe, pero el GBF’12 comió mi tarea.”* It would have been great. Anyway, instead of starting my homework at a normal time, I decided to do some investigating to bring you the latest as to the cause of GBF’12. I decided to turn to facebook, because that’s were a lot of intelligent people seem to hang out. I posted a general question asking if anyone knew anything. For 4 hours, I sat staring at the page waiting eagerly for some info. And now it seems no one gives a shit, or people just don’t wanna help a girl out.

So, as far as I’m concerned the mystery of GBF’12 will forever remain unsolved (though I’m still pretty sure it was the cover-up plan I mentioned before). The only fatalities were the weird bug things that sometimes hang out in the bathroom. RIP Henry, Bobo, Clarice (my names for them) and friends. You’ll be forever in our hearts.

Thus ends the coverage of The Great Bathroom Flood of 2012. This is Ammonia$ta Dribbling, peacin’ out. Deuces.

*Sorry, Professor, but the GBF’12 ate my homework.

UPDATE: SOME POINT LATER THAT NIGHT (time change is confusing)

shit’s getting real.

Everyone. It appears as though I have just come back from what is going to be known as my last meal. Thankfully, it was Cheesies, and it was well worthy of being the last morsel of artery-clogging food I will ever ingest. Sadly, the water has started making it’s way through the bathroom and across the hall, to my room. (Once I thought living across from the bathroom was great; now I loathe it with every fiber of my being.) I’M NOT READY TO DIE. Ke$ha ISN’T EVEN PLAYING RIGHT NOW. I have nothing left to do but sit and pretend to get (more) drunk off of my last bottle of Snapple, because our drunkie supplies ran out last week. It’s tragic in every sense of the word.

I would like to take this time to say a few things. First, thanks to my roommate, whose health kick probably got me into better shape and could help me swim away from my untimely death…Unless I decide to just go to sleep after I finish writing this, which is the more likely case. Also, I would like to thank Cheesies for supplying a great last meal. For those of you who survive GBF’12, go there. You won’t regret it. And finally, I would like to thank Momma and Poppa Dribbling for paying a shit ton of money to send me to a school where I will die in a bathroom flood. The past month has been great. Thank you, ‘rents. It’s been a lovely 18 years.

Unfortunately, I will never be able to solve the mystery of what caused GBF’12. Know that until the flood takes me, I will do my best to figure it out, then try to communicate it to you from the after life. I wish you all the best.
-XOXOXO Ammonia$ta Dribbling (GBF’12 Victim and Ke$ha fan extraordinaire)

Girls bathroom on the “L” side? Sounds fun ;).

UPDATE: 8:15 PM

A terrible tragedy has struck the girls’ second floor bathroom of Elder Residential Community. On Saturday, November 3rd, I woke up to find the bathroom floor covered with water and the drains on the floor surrounded by dirt. At first I thought the water might have been from the tears I shed last night after the Ben Gibbard* concert, when I realized I would never be good enough for him. But that was not the case. (As it turns out, I flooded my room with my tears.) The dirt on the drains led me to believe something is just straight up janky with the plumbing. I grab my camera, snap some pics to send to my mom, then go back to bed and hope someone else would do something about the problem.

No, the floor’s not “shiny clean.” It’s “shiny covered in filth and death.”

Later that day, the bathroom had an “out of order” sign on it. At first I was like, ok whatever, but then I realized that I couldn’t go in there. This poses a few issues:

1. Now I have to walk all the way across the building and down floor to get to the other girls’ bathroom I’m supposed to use just to pee. This is way too much effort, if you ask me. Good thing I have a lot of empty Snapple bottles.
2. All of my shower stuff is being held hostage by the Flood. Meaning, I’m about to get real smelly(er).
3. My toothbrush is also in there. I need to brush my teeth regularly or else I WILL go insane. This is not an overstatement. I’ve already hit the pissy stage of the deterioration of my sanity. Things are not looking good.

So for the next few days, I will be updating you lovely people on the status of The Great Bathroom Flood ’12 (and also my filth/insanity), as well as trying to figure out what the hell happened. Perhaps this is just a fluke in the plumbing system, perhaps this is the work of Sandy (that bitch), or perhaps it’s a highly thought-out cover-up from the girl who always takes giant shits in the bathroom after she finally clogged the toilet (the dirt would be her way of throwing off my sleuthing). As of right now, no one knows when this problem will be resolved.

*Ben, if you’re reading this please let me have your children. Or get back with Zooey so my faith in humanity will be restored.

A Comprehensive Guide to Men’s Bathroom Etiquette

There’s a right time and a wrong time to discuss the pee pee shivers.

If you have a Y chromosome and have ever been stricken with the urgent need to urinate in Midway International Airport, then you would probably agree that the state of men’s bathroom etiquette in the United States is alarming.  Even in the 21^st century, urinalgoers and toiletsitters still routinely disregard the fundamental principles of propriety and respect in the bathroom, resulting in a horrifying number of unwanted junk viewings and uncomfortable verbal exchanges.  In a desperate effort to rectify this social epidemic (henceforth referred to as “The Great Discomfort”), we here at Sherman Ave have developed a comprehensive guide to bathroom etiquette.

Part I: When and how did The Great Discomfort originate? 

            Many trace The Great Discomfort back to the New Deal under President Roosevelt in the 1930s.  One agency created was the Public Works Administration, which was responsible for, well, public works, including many public buildings large enough to necessitate large public bathrooms.  We’re not really sure how this developed into today’s current predicament, but we generally like blaming problems on large government programs and bureaucratic expansion, because of the logic.

Part II: Who is responsible for The Great Discomfort?

            Although social scientists, cultural anthropologists, and ethnographers have spent decades discussing the finer nuances of these wiener-displaying culprits, the answer is really pretty simple: Old people.  Indeed, the most gruesome perpetrators of the Great Discomfort are typically old men who trounce through public bathrooms, trying to make small talk and making no attempt to shield your eyes from their wrinkly, wrinkly manbags.  Here are some of the most common characteristics of the old people who will make your bathroom experience more uncomfortable than that time you watched the rock opera Tommy with your estranged uncle:

• AARP membership
• Florida license plate
• Pocketful of Werther’s wrappers
• Copy of “The Greatest Generation” by Tom Brokaw
• Tendency to loudly announce snap judgments about minorities
• A “Thurmond-Wright ‘48” pin on his knapsack

Of course, America’s grave-fillers aren’t the only ones capable of generating bathroom awkwardness.  Other renowned etiquette-violators include well-meaning janitors, pants-dropping children, and gay-bashing senators.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that you had to watch the Cubs piss away another afternoon.

Part III: Where is The Great Discomfort most volatile?

            As you may have guessed, The Great Discomfort is most potent in public environments.  With the exception of those times years ago when your father kicked down the door while you were peeing and fired off two dozen Roman Candles to threaten you into trying out for the football team instead of auditioning for the local productions of Cats, almost all negative bathroom experiences occur in some kind of public setting and stem from other people being heinous.  Even so, some public places seem to attract the uncomfortable bathroom crowd.  Listed below are some of the most notable hotspots for toilet creepers*.

• Baseball games.  Setting aside the crowd of drunken overweight 30-somethings who are still trying to relive their glory days playing 3^rd base for Boise North High School, the urinal troughs create a toxic environment (literally and figuratively) for bathroom-goers seeking peace and quiet.  You’d think that in a society so focused on individual rights, we wouldn’t all have to piss in the same damn basin like a bunch of mangy socialist taintlords.
• Airports.  Just because you aren’t fellating Larry Craig doesn’t mean that you’re home free.  Airport bathrooms are grotesque because they combine the feel of a high-stress environment (businessmen hurrying to their flights, children hurrying to the shitty airport store, pilots hurrying to get moderately intoxicated at the airport bar) with a crowd of people in travel mode (read: That guy who brushes his teeth in the airport bathroom).  The result is a violent collision of cultures, which inevitably translates to – you guessed it – awkwardness in the bathroom.
• Truck Stops.  For a second, we can ignore the fact a truck stop bathroom is dirtier than the International Mud Wrestling Convention held in Mumbai; the discomfort stems only partially from the inherent dirtiness of the bathroom.  What is even deadlier is the clash of the trucker, who traditionally views a truck stop bathroom stall as a 15-minute escape from the endless yellow lines of I-80, and the standard driver or passenger, who views a truck stop bathroom stall as a 20-second sacrifice to avoid a urinary tract infection.

Target practice.

Part IV: How can The Great Discomfort be curbed?

            After hours of pain-staking research and heated discussion, we have deconstructed the problem at hand and divided it into a handful of simple and digestible tips (no pun intended?) on how to avoid flagrant violations of bathroom etiquette.

• Minimize conversation.  There is a time and a place for everything, and the time and place for small talk is at church picnics and Starbuck’s service counters.
• Minimize awkward conversation.  It’s one thing to talk about the weather to a dude while he’s deflating his pelvic panther, but it’s another to ask him about his ailing grandmother.  There is really just a very limited selection of appropriate conversations that can occur between two men holding their porkswords.
• Minimize grunting.  For fuck’s sake, this isn’t a women’s tennis match.  No one wants to be in the bathroom at the same time as the guy whose defecation process is so intense that it necessitates sound effects comparable to Chewbacca being fisted by King Kong.
• Wash your hands.  This shouldn’t require much explanation.  If you just peed in a urinal, then you just touched your glorystick, which means you should wash your hands.  I’m looking at you, hippies.
• Eyes ahead.  There is nothing more awkward than someone peeing at a full row of urinals whilst aggressively staring at the person to his left or right.  I’d rather have the Eye of Sauron watch me empty the steel eel than have the Eye of Creepy Tall German Guy watch me whip it out.  YES, GERMANS.  I’M CALLING YOU OUT.
• Wait to whip.  Among the most atrocious bathroom crimes is the “Early Exposure,” or the act of completely whipping out your dick before even reaching a urinal.  It is incredibly traumatizing to finish a good piss, turn around to wash your hands, and be accosted by a random dude’s shlong.  Seriously, it’s horrifying, unnecessary, and impossible to unsee, much like the movie “Deliverance.”
• Execute Proper Urinal Placement.  This is the trickiest of these tips to master, because there is truly a science behind urinal placement.  Essentially, this is the rule of thumb: Always attempt to leave at least one urinal between yourself and the nearest bathroom-goer.  Above all, don’t be the guy that bypasses an entire row of empty urinals to occupy the urinal adjacent to the only other occupied urinal.  Just don’t do it.  It’s really hurtful and often leads to severe emotional distress.

So, men of the world, take heed.  With proper attention and care, this social crisis can be corrected.  With each drop of golden elixir that you excrete from your bodies, you have the opportunity to be a catalyst for progress.  Never forget that just one person can make a difference, even if it’s something as small as refraining from asking an adjacent bathroom-goer what he thinks of 50 Shades of Grey.

*Yes, Toilet Creepers was the name of my band in high school.  Those days are behind me, despite the fact that our hit single “Snake Jelly on my Fingertips” would have easily gone platinum had it gotten better exposure.
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