I’m surprised first of all that I enjoy a CSUN toilet long enough to space out, but the University Hall bathroom is near perfect, lacking only that of a bathroom attendant (‘A spritz of Ralph Lauren before criminology, sir? Perhaps, a Mentos?’). But it’s not the best on campus.
As my parting gift for students of this fine institution, as I take the reins of a doomed future, I bestow to thee CSUN’s finest, most opulent lavatories. Coming from a guy ashamed to admit how many excursions were made home to go Number Two, these locations are gold.
First’mdash;before I map out the best seats’mdash;you should know the world is divided into three types of people: crumplers, folders, and non-wipers. Oddly enough I was born with a sixth sense to differentiate whom.
Those who crumple toilet paper are often crass, frivolous, outgoing individuals who disturbingly plow through meals at dinner as though to prove something. They’re also under the belief that their finger won’t slip through the unfolded sheets. (It’ll happen.)
Folders are not better people, just neater. Potty time is a transcendental experience.
Sometimes we even hang our shirts on the door to center ourselves. Using a minimum of four sheets, we feel that we protect our fingers from slippage. (We are also wrong.)
The non-wipers of America are either too poor (feel free to use my column) or don’t mind bearing skid marks during coin-op laundry day. I haven’t befriended any non-wipers, but my guess is that they’re very forgetful.
At CSUN the only major concern, besides finding the golden toilet, is the scratchy, see through TP we’re cursed with.
For us folders, I recommend a leg’s length of sheets per wipe for durability purposes’mdash;and for the love of whatever theological idol you believe in, don’t use the second floor Oviatt Library bathrooms.
It should go without saying that first floor stalls are always a sad story, but booby traps are erupting within the Tseng Gallery. Auto-flush toilets are a joy for germaphobes, but not with faulty sensors, jetting premature swirls upwards like a filthy bidet.
‘Psychology is mostly a female profession,’ an unnamed Sundial reporter whispered to me during class. ‘The department is on the third floor of Sierra Hall, and not many guys pass through there.’
He mentioned how since it’s an older building the bathrooms have larger floor plans. ‘These things have to be carefully researched.’
Amen to that! While I haven’t had the chance to explore the Art department, Juniper Hall, and several others, I have sampled numerous stalls, spending hours of study time atop porcelain thrones playing Tetris on my phone’mdash;or, as I nicknamed, ‘Poop-tris.’
Traffic is a pertinent tool in choosing your personal stall. Enough human bodies consistently gathering in one area leaves a scarlet letter of stanky-ness. Always avoid the first and second story of any building, the exception being University Hall nearby the main staircase.
Places like Citrus Hall (Science Hall 3) have decent stalls on the third. The elevator smells like axel grease and is slower than molasses, which left me dancing with sweaty anticipation. So give yourself time to ascend to the red checker-tiled think tank.
Across the walkway in Eucalyptus hall you’ll find an epic failure in this one-room shanty. It’s the type of nightmare Ewan McGregor swam through in ‘Trainspotting.’
Then somewhere along my crusade, I ran into John Gides, an English instructor, who revealed a treasure map.
‘Uh,’ he began after I asked which bathroom he uses. ‘Well, the seventh floor of Sierra Tower has a little stench to it,’ he said. ‘But the eighth floor is golden.’
And so it came to be. The seventh floor smells like a biohazard dumpster behind a nursing home, but the eighth floor is pristine.
The white and cornflower blue tiles have a glowing aura that sings, and there’s one sink, one urinal, and one roomy stall large enough to waltz in. In the stall, overhead, is a metal bar connecting the partition to the wall. This is good should you feel like hanging your coat or umbrella. If you cough hard enough it will echo throughout the duration of your visit.
‘ As for the lady’s rooms, I did not get a chance to visit. But I’m sure, location wise, that the same goes for you.
And that is my gift. The ivory tower in which the golden potty lies. It’s yours. Enjoy it over your endless pursuit for a bachelor’s degree. And no matter where you venture, in bathrooms or in life, I hope you find your place.