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Volume CXXXII, Number 16 |
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Picking on Bowdoin: spoiled or soiled?
JASON LONG
HUMOR COLUMNIST
For the one or two people that have read my article over the past few weeks, it may be evident that I pick up on certain details of Bowdoin life. While most people go about their day peacefully, I wander from place to place picking out problems and mocking them. Surprisingly, in a Dr. Phil epiphany, I reflected over the weekend as to why I am so critical of my beloved Bowdoin.
On the one hand, there certainly is plenty to be frustrated with. The past few years carried a major facelift for H&L, many dollars were spent to create conditions conducive to studying. My observation: there was one pivotal student need that didn't show up on the blue print.
I am of course alluding to the fact that there is only one lonely toilet for male usage in the entire Hawthorne Longfellow Library. This quickly becomes an issue if the preceding stall occupant is taking his not-so-sweet-time, leaving someone straining for control by the paper towel dispenser. Then there is always the issue of the immediate aftermath, I am sure I need not elaborate.
It deserves noting that there are two* bathrooms for females, but that isn't exactly reason to think that this is a matter of gender discrimination. (Although, just once, I would love to march on the Woman's Resource Center.) The fact is that considering the volume of library goers, particularly after dinner, everyone has been slighted by the lack of facilities, myself included as usual. There I was Tuesday night, crouched by the sink in a fetal position fighting the inevitable. I waited seventeen minutes for Captain Stinky to exit the lonely stall. I almost went in the urinal.
On the other hand, I might be spoiled. I visited a friend attending Northeastern last year to find that she lived in a closet hardly big enough for two beds-and this was a spacious double! All the while I live with a kitchen, dining room, sizable living room and lots of closet space but I can't stop complaining about the loud furnace. The evidence of my spoiled nature shined through on Saturday.
Forgoing the Mos Def concert for a much needed session in the library, I called the shuttle. Needless to say, I didn't want to walk. It was cold, really cold, the same type of cold that led to my car seizing a week ago. It was the type of cold that sent my roommate to New York for the weekend to buy a car, a decision I supported. But until he returned, I needed an escort ride.
When the dispatcher told me, "The shuttle isn't running tonight," I was furious; I planned my whole day around this ride. Considering how cold it was, I reasoned, shouldn't it be the College's priority to help transport students as a matter of safety? Furthermore, it wasn't like I was heading to Helmrich for a quick fix; I needed reserves at the library. So I sat and waited until 9:30 for a taxi, frustrated beyond belief.
That evening it hit me: These services weren't on the cover of the admission brochure so why do I expect them? Besides, when did I become so sheepish? People have walked in the cold since the beginning of time. Was I turning into precisely the kind of crybaby type that I so despise? I am supposed to be a polar bear!
To make matters worse, can you guess why the shuttle wasn't running? Well, the reason is simple; the scheduled driver skipped out at the last minute for New York. The no show driver was my freaking roommate. I learned my lesson, I need to toughen up and stop depending on Bowdoin's many amenities.
Yet, I am not willing to relinquish my keen eye for Bowdoin failures altogether. I just can't help but notice that the light cycles in Thorne actually make people queasy. It isn't wrong that I notice that the polar bear's butt remains conspicuously marked. It is okay to be annoyed that the café sells sushi at twice the price it buys it at from Shaw's. Still, I should remember to be as appreciative as I am critical when pursuing the humor behind the bear.
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