There’s a pandemic within our school that’s rarely spoken of, pushed to the back and ignored despite the fact that it’s bringing us closer to death each and every day. I speak, of course, of the compressed shards of glass that exist in our school’s bathrooms that we’ve all been duped into calling toilet paper.
For far too long, the university’s number one problem has been a number two issue. Life as a student is uncomfortable, filled with stress and too much coffee, so for our school to add the lingering burn of one-ply to our everyday lives strikes me as an unnecessary pain in the ass.
The inadequacy of our toilet paper is a problem I can no longer take sitting down, but standing up only makes the act more difficult. It’s a problem that hurts all of us, yet I appear to be the only person fighting for a future free from the cruel sting of humiliation that comes from taking a shit only to have to wipe with another, slightly less literal piece of shit. Frankly, it rubs me the wrong way.
I dream about having a meeting with our school’s President on this very issue. I would shed a tear as I explained to Indira Samarasekera the horrors of the backdoor assault that our student body has faced by whoever continues to painstakingly sew barbed-wire into the very fabric of our already incredibly low-quality toilet paper.
After I finished protesting this toilet paper injustice, she would look me right in the eyes and say, “Tough shit, Tyler.” This is exactly what I wanted: Mutual understanding. We would finally be on the same page.
But still, even after all this time, through all of our school’s budgetary discussions, not one single spoken sentence has been addressed to whoever orders the supplies for our school. Not one voice has spoken for those in our Design program who have been forced to use soft, cloud-like toilet paper to smooth wood for years just because whoever is in charge refuses to admit that they made a mistake and confused the order for toilet paper with the order for sandpaper.
It appears that those who hold the power to solve our posterity problem refuse to admit that purchasing war-ration toilet paper causes much more harm than good, even at a financial level. Amidst uncertainty about our future budget, cancellations to our classes, programs and the possible loss of scholarships and professors, they turn their back on the fact that the meager additional cost of buying regular household quality toilet paper will be directly off-set by the fact we’ll need to use less per latrine routine.
For those of you currently working in the Students’ Union who will be seeking re-election next year, make quality toilet paper a hot-button issue instead of going on about sustainability and transparency like every other year. If you don’t, one-ply is going to sound an awful lot like one-term after the votes are counted.
To those new student hopefuls, be the change we need to see on campus. Don’t flush your chances at winning away by not campaigning on the issues that students care about. This is an issue that the students of our university care about, regardless of whether or not they know it.
We give a shit, so won’t someone please just let us take one in peace?
On this special short edition of The Gateway Presents, we celebrate the Gateway’s 103rd birthday by telling some birthday stories and talking about The Gateway’s history.
Since this is a music blog and not an exhausted-consideration-on-moments-in-my-life Tumblr blog, what better way to gain some clarity to what I’ve listened to in the past 11 months than order and number songs (one for each month) that I’ve found to be the best and most worthwhile from the past eleven months?
Pandas basketball player and starting point guard Jessilyn Fairbanks didn’t always envision herself leading one of the hottest teams in CIS. In fact, Fairbanks’ path — from Alberta Colleges Athletic Conference (ACAC) standout to leading the charge for the Pandas on both ends of the court — has become one of the more intriguing storylines in varsity sports this year.
What renowned paleontologist Phillip Currie initially thought was a turtle shell poking out of the ground turned out to be an almost fully intact baby dinosaur — and one of the most significant finds of his career.
Ron Woodroof’s life is one of constant debauchery, highlighted by drug addiction, alcoholism and hypersexuality. When the homophobic electrician and amateur rodeo cowboy is diagnosed with HIV AIDS, he reacts with disbelief and anger, beginning Dallas Buyers Club, a powerful story of one man’s resilience amidst the 1980s AIDS epidemic from Canadian director Jean-Marc Vallée.