Get It Together

With the intention of a soothing shower, what appeared to be a small mouse greeted me.  I squeaked inwardly and cringed away, as much as I could in the cramped, claustrophobic shower stall.  I squinted and saw that it was a tangled mangle of dark brown hair.


I found a piece of bacon in one of the sinks in the bathroom.


That is unacceptable.

My gag reflex was definitely working when I spotted the puffed up piece of meat the color of an uncooked chicken leg last week.  It had been there for about three days.

I am not a clean freak, nor do I have a non-severe, self-diagnosed form of OCD, but I do appreciate efforts to be hygienic and sanitary.

It’s hard to expect college students (of all people!) to be clean when they’re juggling grades, a potential social life and hope for a good night’s sleep (or maybe a students’ minimum of 4 hours).

Some girls on my floor seem to think it’s okay to leave the kernels of corn and rods of green beans in the water fountain.  Excuse me, I didn’t receive the memo about the new garbage disposal, handy with cool water to wash away your trash.

This is the part when I close my eyes and call on God to give me one more ounce of patience, chanting “Jesus, take the wheel.  Take the whole car, because I can’t even.”

Get it together, people.  Just because your parents or guardian is no longer (at least, temporarily) breathing down your neck, waiting for you to screw up and leave around dirty crap, does not mean you can slack and make the job of a custodian that much harder.  It’s simple.  Your hair is falling out?  Pick it up.  I don’t want to see it, nor do I want to pick it up for you.  I am 100 percent positive that the custodian does not want to see it or pick it up either.  Please walk the 5 or so meters to the trash room and toss out the Cup Noodles you’ve devoured.  I’d like my water to taste like um, I don’t know, water, not textured soy protein.