老司机传媒

I’d like to confess a secret:

I have been the anonymous creator of "Restroom Recap", the secret and forbidden bathroom newspaper in the stalls of the first and second floors of Lamson Hall.
I know that this must be a shock to the entire campus. Who could have expected that this mastermind plan had been conducted by a member of “The Student Movement” staff, nevertheless, an editor! I’m a plain-dealing journalistic villain, a real rebel-with-a-restroom-cause.

Wait … Are you a part of the majority of the population that doesn’t live on the first and second floors of Lamson Hall and therefore have never heard of “Restroom Recap”? Well, to explain, “Restroom Recap” is a satirical paper I created to humorously “complain” about the state of Lamson Hall and other little issues on campus (like the fall semester closures of The Gazebo). Each month, I would compose and print an issue of the paper and secretly tape it onto the inner stalls of the Lamson Hall bathrooms. None of this was allowed. Residents are not allowed to post anything that has not been pre-approved by the deans, especially not onto bathroom walls. While I could have gotten permission beforehand, I highly doubt I would have gotten approved. With the way I was jokingly calling out the state of the building, it’s very unlikely that it would have been viewed with fondness, and I’m a huge fan of the First Amendment.

It’s easy for us to laugh at the things which bring us collective pain. When someone on sends in a photo of or a fellow Lamson resident bemoans the excessively strict ways in which we’re checked in, we are able to laugh with them in a moment of knowing. There is solidarity in the ability to turn the “serious” into something silly. A chance to turn to your neighbor with an exasperated look that says, “Well, this is just ridiculous.” But when dorm rooms frequently become infested with mold, smoke alarms go off for a straight week, or when residents in the basement are met with flooded floors—should we keep on laughing?

Maybe we have become too normalized to these afflictions.

Yes, I understand that it could be a lot worse, but in our piety, I believe that we have all forgotten that it can also be so much better. At most, a frequently out-of-order vending machine is inconvenient, but when it’s contrasted to Meier Hall’s three working vending machines, it feels a bit unjust. Beyond snacking inequality, the quality differences between the two residence halls prompt the question: how long will it take for the majority of female residents on campus to have an equal and satisfactory housing opportunity—especially when moving off-campus is not an accessible choice? Understandably, repairs are expensive, especially for a building as old as Lamson Hall. This is a place meant to house a significant amount of the student population yet it is also home to many of the following:

• The recurring smell of sulfur throughout the halls.
• Rooms which are on average smaller than the ones in Meier Hall.
• Washing machines that break and lock with your wet clothes inside.
• Painted over tape and bugs on the walls of the dorm rooms.
• House centipedes.
• Students being unable to leave the doors of Lamson Hall after getting checked in, no matter if the distance is only a foot away from the front.
• Doors to dorm rooms that jam and won’t fully close.
• Cloudy water from the faucets in the sinks.
• Brown water from the faucets in the sinks, after the pipes get shut off.

The list goes on.

My ultimate wish to the residents of Lamson Hall is that we learn to ask for more. So often women are made to fear being too much or try to avoid being a burden on others. But at this point, with both safety and satisfaction at stake, I think it’s time to start doing some questioning. We shouldn’t have to live like this. Our tolerance of this situation is less of a reflection of good moral character, and instead, a test of how much the college student’s will can handle at the stake of saving a buck.