One of the many joys of being a college freshman is experiencing the glorious paradise that is the community bathroom. Mere words cannot express the regret I feel in not going suite-style.
“Living community-style will be good for you,” I vaguely remember my idiot-May-2012 self thinking as I navigated the choppy waters of ROAR. “It will be a good way to meet new people and make friends.”
No, idiot-May-2012 self. Living community-style will actually kind of suck. Trust me, you aren’t going to make friends through the bonding experience of uncomfortably trying to pee in a stall adjacent to a poor soul trying to suffer through that spicy Indian food she regrettably indulged in last night.
I’m quite certain most students dealing with the issue of sharing things they’ve never had to before find the experience to be difficult to adjust to. Especially when it comes to a place where you brush your teeth, drop the kids off at the pool (don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about) and shower.
I have to say my worst experience with the appealing community bathroom occurred just before Thanksgiving break. It all started with a trip to the Student Health Center. Well, actually, about three trips to the Student Health Center. _Finally_, a doctor decided it might be a wise move to have my blood tested. After reviewing my pitiful white blood cell count, he had the immense pleasure of informing me I had mono. And there was absolutely nothing he could do for me.
“Good luck,” he said with a smile as he handed me a box of Advil.
Whoop-dee-freakin’-doo.
If you’ve ever had mono before, you know how awful it is. Basically, all your insides are punching themselves and apparently trying to leave your body via the pie hole. In other words, I could not stop barfing for three days straight (sorry, but it’s only going to get more graphic from here).
This might not have been a problem if I had been in the comfort of my own home where I have my very own bathroom attached to my bedroom. But alas, my life is awkward, and therefore I could only be terribly nauseous in the not-so-comfy setting of the community bathroom.
Since my room is pretty far away from the bathroom, and I didn’t feel like doing Olympic sprints every time I felt the urge to vomit, I had to make camp in the handicap stall. I mean, I _literally_ made camp. I had a towel draped on the floor, a pillow, a blanket, two boxes of saltines, a two-liter bottle of ginger ale and my laptop.
Don’t judge me.
It was pretty awful, lying on the floor in a crumpled-up heap in the handicap stall. I’m pretty sure half the girls that walked in just assumed I was passed out from a hardcore party the previous night, so no one questioned it (that would have been way more of a badass story, so I apologize).
The worst part for me, though, was probably the stuff I had to sit through. I was literally so ill I could not move, so people kept coming in hoping I would leave so they could “take care of business.” Others just didn’t care. And those were always the worst.
Moral of the story — yes, community-style living can be absolutely awful sometimes. But everyone has to go through it. It’s just another way for you to learn to make the best of a situation. Take the steps to make community spaces more comfortable for you. Maybe bring a pair of headphones so you don’t have to always hear everyone else, or bring a shower speaker so you can feel relaxed and comfortable with music you are familiar with in an unfamiliar space. But most of all, respect other people. Give people the space they need, and don’t be obnoxious in a place you share with others.
And if you think your community bathroom experience is really that bad, just recall mine. That will always make you feel better. Or, you know, just go suite-style and avoid the problem altogether.
Or else you will find yourself in a “shitty” situation.
I crack myself up.