A student walking out of the Chick-Fil-A bathroom. Graphic by Madeline Woods

What students really do in on-campus bathrooms

Get the most out of your bathroom visits across campus by thinking outside the stall.

Oliphant, third floor: cry. The cleaning staff never disturb you; they’ll only give you a half-hearted glance and leave you in peace. The emptiness plus the warmth from the windows makes you feel like you’re cocooned with only the weight of your stress to keep you company. Plus, there’s a couch just down the hall for your post-cry nap.

The Student Union, by Chick-fil-A: drugs, maybe. It always smells faintly gross, there are loud noises from the pipes and the lights are dim. There are a weird number of stalls considering how little it’s used, so you’re always guaranteed a modicum of privacy and no lines (of people, at least). It gives off the same vibes as a mid-level gas station in a flyover state that’s 30 miles away from any other human-made structure. No one is here to interrupt your bad decisions.

Chapman, second floor: survive a zombie apocalypse. The two sets of doors when you walk in make an excellent choke point, even if you have little room to maneuver. The faucets don’t work super well, but cleanliness probably isn’t your first priority if you’re trying to re-kill the undead anyway. The general sense of despair will fit the apocalypse aesthetic perfectly.

Keplinger Hall, any floor: get in a fight with your mother over the phone. The bad acoustics give you a reason to hang up if things get too heated. And if you want to continue the shouting match? Even better. No one in Kep is going to stop or interact with you. You’re free to drag out all of your messy family drama for as long as you need.

Hardesty Hall, Holmes Center: have a panic attack. Sure, it’ll be messy, and you’ll embarrass yourself in front of all the professionals that are coming and going, but really, they’ve probably done it too. Go for it. Clutch at your chest and realize these people are who you’re going to be in a couple of years. Succumb to the existential dread. You’re doing them a favor by panicking, because they can’t be so obvious about their mental breakdowns anymore.

McFarlin Library, lower level, just across from the stairs: all the embarrassing things you want to do in a public restroom but are too awkward to do. You can check your teeth, sit and browse on your phone for an unreasonable amount of time, make sure your fly isn’t down or that you aren’t sweating through your shirt in the mirror. It’s poorly-lit, so even your reflection can’t judge you too harshly. Plus, the signs about not putting your food in the sink are sarcastic, and there’s a picture of an owl, so the bathroom’s slightly-chaotic energy will match yours. That’s just synergy.

Post Author: Raven Fawcett