The Public Menace

The Public Menace

Photo by Google Images

Bryce Rodabough, Staff Writer

The bang echoes through the bathroom as I enter, the wood door bouncing against the metal frame. Immediately, my senses are assaulted with the smell of…. well, honestly I have no idea what that smell is; what I do know is that I am definitely not a fan.  As I sit down, I begin to read the literature and philosophy penned all around me; I am clearly not the first occupant to be inspired by the stall walls that surround the toilet.  I need to get out of here. But currently, there are more pressing matters to attend to.

Now before I get any further, let me clarify: I am not chastising the Janitorial staff here at Bingham.  They do a bang-up job and are always friendly. I am merely questioning the bathroom conduct of Bingham male students.

For the past three years of my life, I have been subjected to using the restrooms here at Bingham, and in those years I have seen many things happen behind the doors marked with a vague outline of what could be considered a man.

Just last week, I was washing my hands when a young man walked in and, in an angry frenzy, picked up the garbage can, threw it across the room, and then commenced with his business.   Many also remember this past month when someone lit a fire in a garbage can.  What a champ.

Unlike the rest of the world, the bathroom still resembles the home of a caveman, where primal undeveloped social skills reign supreme.  Have I not left the world of middle school behind? Memories of soaped up wet paper towels stuck to the ceiling, and clogged, overflowing sink drains still haunt my dreams and keep me up late at night.

People, don’t be a hog when it comes to the delicate supply of toilet paper and paper towels.  Be as skimpy as possible. I cannot count the numerous times I have finished my hand washing just to have to stand in the bathroom waving my hands like a wild banshee in an attempt to get them dry.

When you’re done… flush! It’s that simple.  Don’t leave a birthday surprise that no one wants. It’s like getting used socks for Christmas, only smellier.

The process is simple, get in, fraternize as little as possible, do your business, and get out.  The bathroom doesn’t need to be a place of shenanigans; instead, it’s a place where no one wants to be, but where everyone is forced to go to.  As soon as we can all realize this, a sense of bathroom conduct equality can thrive among the stalls here at Bingham.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see a man about a dog.