Exposé: Wash Your Damn Hands

Alright, I’ll be upfront with everyone: I am not a fan of germs. I get wigged out if people around me are feeling sick, and my hands are cracked like an old terrible vase from how often I wash them in this frigid flu season we’re all going through. So I’m aware that, sometimes, I’m a little more bothered than most about things that might get you sick.

But what I’ve been witnessing recently is something universally upsetting. Well, clearly it isn’t, or else the bad awful men that have been doing this dirty deed wouldn’t be doing it in the first place. Three times in the past month, in different bathrooms, I have heard people take a shit and leave the bathroom without washing their hands.

Not so much as a rinse in the sink, not even a dry hand-rubbing with the antibacterial soap. Nothing. I listened for the sound of a pack of disinfectant wipes opening up or something, and was disappointed every time. Knowing I was going to have to grab some extra paper towel to grip the door handle if I ever wanted to leave this bathroom was just one more burden on my soul after learning that these people were out there, in here, on our good clean campus.

Kenyon College is a private liberal arts institution which educates young minds between the ages of 18 to 22 (or, at some extremes, 17 to 23) and all these ages are well past the stage where you learn that you need to wash your goddamn hands when you use the bathroom. I can’t even fathom why someone wouldn’t know this or, worse, why they would purposefully ignore this sacred rule. Is it just that you’re in a hurry? Look, bud, I get it. No one wants to be in the bathroom that long; it’s a chamber full of bad feelings and toilet mistakes that we all wish we didn’t think about. But if you want to carry on with your day like a normal fucking human being, you need to cleanse yourself of the remnants of your terrible bowel experience. This is common knowledge.

I wish I knew who these boys were, I really do. All jokes aside, if I could definitely say who it was that I’ve heard doing this, I would write their names, class, and probably dorm and room number on this blog in a heartbeat. I would shame them publicly, and keep other people safe in the process—you don’t want to shake hands with one of these fecal fiends! But I never got a good look at them; one time this happened I was in the shower, once I was facing away from the stalls, and once I was in a stall myself. I wonder, though, if these horrible shit monsters, these real trash boys, could look another person in the eye as they actively forgo one of the arguably most important cultural norms. But I also fear what it may be like to lock eyes with this type of man—would I wither and die? Would I turn to a pillar of salt? A pillar of shit

This has happened in my own dormitory (continuing the adventures of Wacky Watson living) as well as in Peirce dining hall, a place where we eat! I am spiraling out of control under the weight of exams, and now I (and, sadly, all of you reading this) have to deal with the emotional burden of knowing that real, flesh and blood monsters walk our quaint Gambier roads, wiping their filthy hands all over our campus. Stay safe, friends. Stay clean.

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