Although bathing and pooping at whim is a luxury I enjoy, each
room in De Neve Plaza that comes with a private bathroom has robbed
students of an essential part of the dorm experience: the communal
bathroom.
I don’t like sharing my private bathing space any more
than anyone else probably does. I don’t like the possibility
of encountering funky stains that aren’t my funky stains, or
used condoms that aren’t my used condoms. But for generations
the floor bathroom has played an important role in creating social
cohesion in university residence halls the world over.
As bizarre as it sounds, the bathroom provides a great way to
meet friends. Everybody uses it and everybody has to leave their
rooms to get there. As a result, whether because of high traffic in
the hallways or familiarity through repeated encounters in the rest
rooms, residents see a lot more of each other, which clearly helps
in forging close relationships.
Look at halls like Dykstra. Despite the fact that it’s
been around since before most of us were born, the general
consensus is that living there is a blast. In practicing the
“Dykstra Luv” that’s professed on their hall
sweatshirts, residents leave their doors open as a welcome gesture,
allowing neighbors to sporadically drop in and out. All the
students on most floors are even known to embark on excursions in
which they paint the town red, or at least go bowling together.
The floor bathroom makes all of this possible, for without it,
as gregarious as you might be, you’d still see a lot less of
your neighbors. Eliminate shared bathroom use, like in De Neve, and
watch the upbeat social atmosphere take a plunge.
I just moved into De Neve this quarter as a transfer student
from Santa Monica College and I expected on-campus housing to be a
24-hour party. Panty raids aside, I eagerly looked forward to
having neighbors drop by at random, late-night chats in the hall,
and most of all, gaining a sense of solidarity between my neighbors
and me. Imagine my dismay when I discovered that living in De Neve
isn’t much different from living in a hotel room.
In the eight weeks since I first moved in, I have neither met
nor seen the people who live directly across the hall from me; in
fact, I hardly ever see anybody who lives on my floor. Leaving my
door open won’t work because nobody ever walks by. As for
knocking on other people’s doors and saying hello,
that’s great, but after the initial encounter I never run
into any of the people I greet until long after we’ve both
forgotten each others’ names.
Therein lies the crux of the problem. Meeting people is easy,
but following up can be a laborious task, especially if it means
taking time out of your schedule for strangers. The floor bathroom
creates an environment in which it is impossible to ignore your
neighbors.
Granted, floor bathrooms are not without their downsides. I
mean, how up close and personal are you going to get with someone
who leaves the remnants of his beard all over the sink and floor?
And who knows where the multiple square-foot blood stain on the
shower curtain came from? Given this, it’s understandable
that many would opt for their own bathrooms even if it meant
sacrificing part of the dorm experience.
Perhaps in planning the additions to Hedrick and Rieber Halls
due in 2006 or 2007, the housing office should look for a
compromise between floor and private baths like in the Sunset
Village, where one bathroom is shared between four students.
Maybe this way future students will get the privilege of
experiencing a balanced fusion between personal privacy and social
openness.