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Ode to Mold and other campus fungi!
By Al
Ruechel | 08-29-02
Ah yes. Isn’t college wonderful? It’s
that time of year when you come to appreciate the simple things in
life like a good hot meal, a good nights sleep and a dorm room that
isn’t crawling with God-awful, mutated growths of, as yet,
unclassified living organisms that escaped from the biology
department.
Consider the conditions of the housing area at my son’s college. I’m
withholding the institutions name because, well, paybacks are heck.
This is part of the historic section of the University. Perhaps that
means it was one of the first buildings to be constructed at this
school, which was founded just before the civil war. It’s got that
stone thing going on, and bricks, and cute little miniature bay
windows, and stone arches, and little nooks and crannies everywhere.
It looks wonderful! Kind of like a Curry and Ives greeting card. Its
wrapped around a lovely tree-filled courtyard that, at one time,
probably had real grass and flowers growing before the students
started running over everything with their bikes and cars. Now most
of the area is compacted soil littered with cigarette butts and
occasional genetically deformed bushes trying to scratch out an
existence.
That’s on the outside. If there was any doubt about the historic
nature of this area it was completely erased once I stepped inside.
No way this building was ever designed as a dormitory, maybe an
office building, but not a housing area. Yet, according to the
housing brochure, these rooms in this “unnamed hall” are actually
suites, which is a fancy way of saying we are going to charge you
more than the typical two person rooms. For your extra two hundred
dollars per semester you and two roommates will be sharing two
spacious sleeping rooms and one common room. This is a total of
three rooms to house your personal belongings and enjoy the
camaraderie of dormitory living.
Let me paint you a picture, and you’d better hold your breath! Upon
enter the common room I was struck in the face with the smell of an
old wet blanket. Did I say room? It’s a stinking hallway with
windows. To accommodate air conditioning at least half of the
ceiling was lowered to a height of about seven feet. The intake vent
looked like something from a rusted out World War II submarine. The
mold was so thick on the ventilation louvers blowing about a foot
above the bunk bed it looked like broccoli heads. The wood around
the windows was covered with a slimy black film that reminded me of
crank case oil on an old engine block. I’m not talking somebody
forgot to dust for a couple of weeks or months. I’m talking major
league, toxic super fungi that have been around so long they
probably remember the days this school didn’t have a football team.
(One note: Mold and mildew are not just inconveniences. These nasty
fungi are responsible for a myriad of respiratory problems that can
manifest themselves into long-term chronic illnesses. Hundreds of
buildings and homes in the state have been condemned as a result of
something called Sick Building Syndrome of which mold and mildew is
the primary cause. A building in this same complex was demolished
recently because of mold and mildew.)
Architecturally, the place looks like it was built for Umpa-Lumpa’s
or the mayor of Munchkin land. One of the rooms is so small the
already undersized bed will only fit on one wall. There is room for
a desk and that’s it. The holding cells in the Pinellas county jail
are bigger. This is no joke. You can be sitting on the bed and reach
out and touch the opposite wall. The chest of drawers and the
makeshift closet are out in the common area partially blocking the
entrance. The other sleeping area is bigger with a bunk bed and two
makeshift closets and one desk. My son’s desk was, naturally,
missing. I was later told that many students opt not to have a desk
because it takes up too much room and they would rather just study
on their beds. Hello?
Hummm! I can see it now. My son peacefully sleeping, his 6’4” frame
curled around his computer with his printer and scanner at his feet,
his CD burner and speakers at his back, his biochem and physics and
business management books gently caressing his head. For crying out
loud, if the rooms aren’t big enough to accommodate the necessities
of dorm life than they aren’t dorm rooms. Since when is a desk
considered a frill?
When housing finally decides to get around and find him a desk it
will undoubtedly partially block the entrance to the room. So for
now, as classes begin, his computer will be sitting on a couple of
boxes on the floor and his roommate will have to vault over him
being careful as not to smash his head into the seven foot ceiling,
thereby dislodging some of that historic mold.
Yes, my son and his roommates complained. They were told to fill out
a form and wait for someone to get back to them. That was six days
ago. And when I called the custodial staff to complain they must
have thought I was a student because the woman told me, “So who do
you think you are, some one special? There are about 150 other
people ahead of you?” I reminded her that I was a parent and not a
student and a financial supporter of the University. She said, “Yes,
everybody says that.”
In all fairness to the people that work at this school, I’m sure
they will try to correct the problems as best they can. The shortage
of on-campus housing is an issue all over this great nation. I’ve
screamed before and they’ve listened. They still send me those
monthly alumni letter asking for money so I haven’t ascended to the
ranks of the most dreaded parent in the universe. I’m, sure this ode
to mold could be written about most any other college dorm in
America. And this university does have some new dorms that are
absolutely first class IF you don’t mind paying out the nose. And
no, I haven’t forgotten off-campus housing which, in many some cases
resembles the suburbs of Bangladesh.
But, on campus housing IS the university. We parents have a higher
level of expectation of this institution, which has such a wonderful
academic reputation. My taxes go to support this school not to
mention the thousands I’ve already paid the university for housing.
It just galls me to see millions of dollars being spent on luxury
boxes at the football stadium that will be used 8 times a year and
millions on an alumni center and yet, these old dorms are allowed to
exist in their pathetic state of disrepair.
Truth is, most of us don’t make enough money to be able to afford
the cost of those new first class dorms, $2,640 per semester.
Besides, I’m not sure its healthy for the development of a
well-rounded, balanced child to give them the absolute top of the
line before they can appreciate the concept of delayed gratification
and having to work hard to get the best. Coach class is just fine as
long as it’s clean and adequate.
Actually, my son has decided to attack this mold thing quite
scientifically. He calls his room “The Petri Dish”. He’s convinced
the cure for cancer might be lurking somewhere on the ceiling. He
says if he could teach the mold to recognize speech the CIA might be
interested in training it. He also pointed out that at some point
when the environment, which supports the mold, runs out of food the
fungi will eventually turn on itself and die of natural causes. Oh
great. I’ll just send him a Canary so at least he’ll have a couple
of minutes warning before the black crud depletes his entire living
area of oxygen.
P.S. The University did get back to me once I told them who I was
and that I was going to write a commentary for a nationally
syndicated radio program. They did wash and scrub the room and will
replace all the vents with new ones.
“They were the nicest people, Dad! What did you say to them?” my son
asked.
The nice young gentleman who called me admitted this building should
never have been turned into a dorm in the first place. He promised
to personally make sure my son’s needs were met. And ever the
salesman, he suggested if I made a small contribution to the
University it could be used to help build more affordable housing in
the future. DO I REALLY LOOK THAT STUPID? Don’t answer that!
Al Ruechel, copyright 2002, all
rights reserved
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