It’s the first day of classes and you wake up from your three-hour slumber–hopefully a bit longer but probably not–ready to settle into your porcelain throne. The one moment of your day where you are truly alone with your thoughts, shielded from the harsh world by two plastic walls. This is it. You relieve yourself and prepare to go about your day, but not before flushing, of course. You can’t quite remember pushing down on the lever but suddenly your jeans are ruined with a smattering of toilet water. The sacred nature of the bathroom has been defiled. And to add insult to injury, this toilet has the nerve to require a second flush! Horrifying! Geez, say it don’t spray it!
Your mind is suddenly flooded with questions: when will the Caswell bathrooms be remodeled? How does one assess toilet efficiency? How much water is being wasted by these unfortunate events?
This altercation has broken the bond between woman and toilet. The order of the cosmos has been disrupted. Your soul retreats into the dark recesses of your mind, at this vulgar act.
You keep replaying the moment of betrayal in your mind. How your morning haze was violently disrupted by a stream of tainted water. You relive the cruel act over and over until you finally leave the bathroom to go change your pants, making you late to your 9 am.
Your neighborhood toilet has become a worse foe than the centipedes that rule Caswell. You’re so soaked, you might Caswell have gone for a swim!
Things have gone too far; it’s time to take a stand.
You take action by boycotting the offending Caswell toilet, and only using the toilets in the basement. However, your new setup lacks convenience and, let’s face it, running down the stairs in your pjs every morning to pee quickly loses its charm; you’re hardly Cinderella arriving at the ball.
Like in all your endeavors, convenience trumps all. So, you return to your home base, the Caswell toilet on the first floor. You decide to pretend that you are not in fact being assaulted by muddied water, but instead that it is the ocean spray on a cruise that you’ll never have time to take.
Oh toilet, though you may spray, I accept that you are here to stay.
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