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Volume CXXXIII, Number 1 |
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The tower of power: Dangers for the vertically
inclined
IAN MORRISON
CONTRIBUTOR
Hark! These are dangerous times for those of us in the tower. New dangers and old ills are around every beer-saturated corner of our humble abode amidst the Bowdoin pines. What I present here is a list of issues which the administration MUST account for if life in the Tower is to continue unperturbed. But first, for completeness, as well as pure amusement, I feel the need to give some background about the Tower.
The Tower, or "The Tower of Power" as Res Life has officially named it (in tribute to that infamous Thursday night hour) has been a part of the Brunswick skyline for long enough to piss just about everyone off. Ideally situated for broadcasting loud hip-hop, drunken rugby chants, and slamming doors throughout the Midcoast region, the Tower is an emblem of social life at Bowdoin. The Tower is rumored to have been at one time the tallest building in Maine. And, Joshua Chamberlain is my mother.
I feel that I should describe my first night in the Tower because it is such a common and emblematic story. I don't actually remember the night - but in the morning, I awoke next to a friend on the floor of a common room wearing a sarong over my "chili dog" boxers and a push-up bra with socks inserted, the leftovers of a drag party which apparently only my friend and I knew about. My friend was wearing a smeared sharpie moustache, a sweatshirt, and a hang over. I knew then and there that I had to one day live in the Tower.
The leading ingredient in all social activities in the Tower is beer. It goes in the people, on the walls, out the window, etc. This is not to say that beer is all that goes on in the Tower, but simply that it is a kind of marinade used to bring out the flavor of any get-together/boozer. It is in fact uncommon to find people just sitting around drinking; there is almost always some ridiculous pretense or "theme" whereby the guys can dress like idiots and the girls can dress as little as possible. Most Tower residents remain in the beer-inade from Thursday through Sunday, except when we leave the Tower to make noise and vandalize Longfellow Ave.
The Tower has six floors. The basement is where you put things in storage and then can never get them out again. This is also where the new state-of-the-art money-stealing machines, courtesy of Student Government, are located. All the way at the top, the sixteenth floor is the domain of boredom during the week, but transforms to an executive smoker's lounge on weekend nights. Sandwiched between these floors are the four most important floors. The first floor has a dining hall for Tower residents that offers a nice view of the worst housing on campus, coincidentally named after the school's most celebrated president: my mother. Sometimes other people eat at this dining hall too, though they are uninvited. The three remaining floors are The Floor You Live On, The Floor Where the Party's At, and The Floor You Wake Up On. There is also the Track Floor. Note that the Track Floor is not called the Fun Floor.
A number of problems that have existed in the Tower for some time have still yet to be addressed by the administration or facilities department. For example, déjà vu Tour, a common weekend ailment of Tower residents in previous years, has yet to be systematically investigated. The symptoms are straightforward: you wake up to find that all your stuff in your room has been removed, someone else's stuff has been placed inside, and there is a stranger in bed next to you.
In addition, several recent "improvements" to the Tower threaten the Tower Way of Life. The new card laundry system is much too complex to operate hung over - it even involves reading. This means that there is absolutely NOTHING that can be done on Sundays; accordingly, Sundays will soon be removed from the Tower Calendar. The Tower Elevators, a constant source of mortal fear, have been "improved" this year by doubling their speed. This was done by halving their already dubious safety. In the brief time of the school year thus far it has been rare to have both elevators working. What we need is not faster elevators but wider elevators, as on weekends it is unthinkable to touch the beer-drenched elevator walls, thus limiting the number of stumbling party-goers that can fit into each ride. Finally, the dining service has upgraded to a new card-swiping machine which does a full background check on the owner of each card, consulting offices in Chicago, Frankfurt, and Addis Ababa. It uses a high-speed horse-and-buggy connection. As a result, the line to get in our private dining hall has become a serous fire hazard (said differently: freshmen go to Moulton!).
As I showered next to a half-kicked birthday keg this morning, I was overcome not only by the fiery shooting pain of someone flushing somewhere in the Tower, but also by the equally fiery and shooting pain that comes from one who feels his way of life, and even his very life, is threatened. Don't even get me started on the day when Res Life pulled the fire alarm, knowing they had placed a girl in crutches on one of the upper floors. Her slow hobble bottle-necked the upper floors from escaping, potentially ending all our lives in incinerating doom. Do they want us all to die? Had that fire been real I guarantee you Peggy-leg would have been trampled, then torched.
This is just too much. I am determined to be heard by the administration.
I will not stop shouting my complaints until every administrator hears
me, or at least until the residents of Longfellow Ave. get really pissy.
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