Community bathroom showers

The Mario Kart 64 Robbery of 2001 has reached an inexplicable resolution. On this past Monday afternoon, the game, as well as the three controllers that had also been taken, mysteriously showed up in a plastic bag on one of my friend’s futon—exactly one week after it had been stolen. I still don’t know who the criminal was, but I do know that Mario Kart is back, and for once in my life, I nearly feel complete. All the Spanish-speaking kids who live in my hall will be ecstatic as soon as they learn that they get to play the game once again. Some of them had been becoming noticeably depressed. Everyday their eyes would get very hopeful and they would ask, “Eric, is … is el Mario Kart back?” I can’t wait to see the joy in their eyes when I tell them that it is. By the way, a special thank you goes out to everybody out there who has wished Mario Kart a safe recovery. That means a lot to me in the face of this horrible hate crime.

On another topic, taking a shower in a community bathroom is tricky business. For one thing, you have to wear pool shoes or waterproof sandals or something, because it is generally assumed that there is an inch-thick layer of gonorrhea encrusting the shower floor. For another thing, in my wing of Landon Hall there are only three showers: the one that’s freezing cold, the one that has no pressure and the legendary Third Shower, which is the Goldilocks “just right” shower that everybody yearns for. This turns the practice of taking a shower into a competitive game of musical chairs. But even the Third Shower has moments of inconsistency, because all community bathroom showers must legally provide a temperature roller-coaster thrill ride of excitement. If somebody takes a quick sip of water from a drinking fountain on the other side of campus, your shower could potentially turn into either a blazing downpour of liquid fire or an icy artic blast comparable to chewing Dentyne Ice™ brand chewing gum. When somebody goes so far as to flush a nearby toilet or use a neighboring shower, it’s anybody’s guess as to what your water temperature is going to be. MSU has a very bad pluming situation, and I’m pretty sure that all of the water here originates from the Red Cedar River. This could explain why tap water on campus tastes like ass. No wonder vending machines have the audacity to charge $1.25 for a bottle of water. Everybody wants to buy some non-ass water.

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