It happens to the best of us.

You went before you left for class, but it didn’t seem to make any difference this time around. You rush from the room, down the hall and hit the bathroom door at thirty.

There’s only one out of five stalls where the toilet isn’t plugged with paper. You still have to flush this one, however, before you use it—with your foot, of course, because you don’t trust the sterility of the handle when there’s balled up paper on the floor and nasal excretions on the stall walls. But don’t worry, your majesty, there’s plenty to read while you’re sitting on the throne.

Wellcome to your typical NIU washroom experience. Disgusting, isn’t it? But this scenario doesn’t describe every washroom at NIU. Generally, it applies to classroom buildings, and these most often—and most heinous—on the first and second floors. And I can’t speak for the ladies’ rooms, but I’ve heard stories. Of course, I really don’t know enough about those female things to go into detail.

You might be asking, what part of the NIU community most often frequents these facilities?

The students, of course. But this doesn’t make any sense. NIU students don’t have the slightest disregard for public property, (“Beavis” Hall) do they?

Well, seeing is believing. And the dirt—or whatever else it is—is strewn all over the bathroom floors and stall walls.

Those English major wanna-bees are really something, too. Hey, is this new tuition hike so high that you guys can’t afford notebooks anymore? The stall walls are full of stuff that doesn’t even belong in the DeKalb Night Weekly. In the last three years, about the only printable thing I’ve read (yes, I admit my eyes do wander at times) is, “What are you reading this for? The joke’s between your legs.”

I mean, this is really disgusting. Generally, you’ve got to climb at least two flights of stairs in any university building—save administrative—to find something possible to sit on. And DuSable’s the worst. What do you guys do, have toilet paper wars between classes?

Or maybe we can have a contest to see how much of a mess we can make for good old janitor Bob? Hey it’s his job. He’s getting paid for it, right?

I’d ask if you guys treat your own bathroom’s like that, but I’ve seen some of your bathrooms. Hell, I’ve seen some of your living rooms. I realize that you’re not being discriminatory about the messes you make and where you make them. And it seems to be in our society’s nature to expect everybody to clean up after us. Just look at how our elected officials run government for proof of that.

I mean, look at the classrooms in DuSable. By the middle of the afternoon there are half-empty pop cans and The Northern Star strewn all over the place.

But just because you make a mess everywhere doesn’t mean it’s right. Making a mess of your house is your business, and you’re welcome to if you like. I have a layer system of laundry like most guys in college (y’know, it doesn’t need washing until it’s been on the floor three consecutive days) but that’s my system and my room where I’m allowed to do it.

Making a mess of someone else’s house, or a place of public ownership, is irresponsible and evidence of an unkempt mind. If you insist on making the environment you exist in as cluttered as your own head then you should be seeking professional help. Of course, if that were the case, an awful lot of us would end up on the shrink’s couch.

Maybe there’s a better way. Maybe we should all just clean up after ourselves once in a while instead of expecting somebody else to do it. Throw the pop can and the Star into the recycle bin when class is done. Chuck the toilet paper in the can when you’re through, and don’t forget to flush. Use your notebook instead of the stall wall—use stick-up notes if you must, at least they’re easy to remove.

And, Mr. Boogerman, go back to eating those things or something.