I just transferred here from Virginia at the beginning of Fall Semester 2003. Walking around the campus before my classes began, I stared in wide-eyed wonderment at the size of it and how much money must have gone into each building. Having transferred in from a much smaller community-college setting, I felt like I was leaving the farm and seeing the bright lights of the big city for the first time. The dollar amount that must have gone into the campus as a whole is staggering to a simpleton like myself. Everything was so modern-it was wonderful. I felt like I was at a first-rate school.
At Marriott Library, I was astounded yet again by the size and resources of it. It must have taken me a good solid month to explore the entire complex. Every detail seemed to have been thought of, from wireless routers to vast computer labs and source material, to the many study areas. Even the rest rooms, I observed, as I had occasion to use the facilities, were up-to-date, with motion sensing toilets and faucets. What a wonderful place, I thought to myself as I washed my hands. If Plato ever had a chance to write The Bathrooms of the Republic, he surely would have described something like this.
I then looked around for a paper towel. Nothing. I looked further for the notoriously unpopular hand dryers. Not one. Then, as if seeing them for the first time, I noticed hanging on the wall, in striking contrast to the state-of the-art facilities, the relics that could have been made no later than the Civil War: big, unsightly boxes attached to the wall with dingy, stained, coarse cloth dangling from one side and looping back to the other.
“What is this?” I thought to myself. There must be some horrible mistake. Perhaps these are temporary replacements while they await delivery of the real paper towel dispensers. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stand there forever-I had to act. Putting all reservations aside, I stepped up hesitantly to the dispenser, and gingerly with the thumb and forefinger of both hands pulled on it. I was greeted with more stained, filthy material. I pulled again, just imagining the hepatitis germs I was no doubt coming into contact with from the previous user. I pulled one more time. The third time’s the charm, as they say. And, sure enough, it was-the end came free from the dispenser and dropped to the floor where it dangled loosely, mocking me. I thought perhaps it had expired from the inordinate number of times it must have been subjected to the dysentery bacteria. But this didn’t help me. I sought out another relic and spotted three more of them within easy reach. All of them were afflicted with the same malady as the one I had inadvertently crippled.
Frustrated, I wiped my hands on my pants and left. Since then, I have conducted a studious search in order to find facilities (not that I’m obsessed or anything) that are up to standard with the recommended method of hand washing:
1) Turn on water and rinse hands.
2) Lather up.
3) Rub hands vigorously for 15-30 seconds.
4) Rinse clean.
5) Remove paper towel and dry hands.
6) Use paper towel to turn off faucet and open door. Deposit in the trash on your way out. (For my source on this, please consult any public rest room wall. It is printed on the sign that everyone ignores.)
No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to figure out how to comply with these directions given the current cloth towel dispensers. With the exception of the one paper towel dispenser in the bookstore, which I assume must have been an oversight (perhaps the ones here broke and they were forced to get new, modern dispensers when they were told that the wrap-around kind we currently use were discontinued in 1927), every restroom I know of contains these abominations.
Now, I am aware that at least 60 percent of the people who use the rest rooms do not even bother to wash after the fact. Another 25 percent just get through step one on the list above, then get tired and leave. I’ve never been quite sure why this is. Is it because they feel like they should be washing up but aren’t willing to put the tremendous amount of effort it takes into it? Or maybe it’s because they see other people doing it and don’t want to be noticed, so they just pretend. It’s working, too-they are fooling a lot of people. (If you are one of these people, please disregard that last sentence.) But whatever the reason, in light of this fact, it seems all the more critical to have the necessary sanitation equipment.
I know that even an administrator who sees my point of view immediately thinks of the financial concerns of swapping all of them out. I have thought of this also. (I have a lot of time to think of such things as I stand in front of the filthy rag dispensers wondering if the toilet or the towels will make my hands more unsterile.) It so happens that my residency application has been denied to this fair state. As a result, I am paying approximately $5,000 a semester to attend the U. It occurs to me that if they were even to apply just my tuition money to this problem, in no time at all they could have them swapped out and get HAZMAT out to remove the old ones. It would do my heart good to know my tuition funds were going toward something that is directly benefiting every person on campus, both the washed and the unwashed.