Fifteen Minutes: Under Pressure

Dave C. Rennard ’03 of Greenough Hall, recently became the Union’s self-pronounced “Shower Inspector.” Rennard, who introduces himself as “Dave
By J. G. Fong

Dave C. Rennard ’03 of Greenough Hall, recently became the Union’s self-pronounced “Shower Inspector.” Rennard, who introduces himself as “Dave Rennard—living life to the extreme” just reviewed the last shower in Greenough, and has plans to move on to Hurlbut and Pennypacker in the near future.

Since his room key opens all the bathrooms in the dorm, the Inspector decided to take advantage of his luck by showering in each and every bathroom, using his inspection as justification. “Basically, I get all dressed up in my bathrobe, my soap on a rope and my sandals, and I make my way down to said shower to take a shower. If it’s a girls’ shower, I knock, make sure no one is in there, slip quietly in, clean myself and slip quietly out. If it’s a guys’ shower, I’m not quite as cautious for obvious reasons.” The extremist proceeds to return to his domicile, outside of which hangs a chart with the ratings for each shower.

The criteria for a shower analysis include water pressure, temperature maneuverability, effect of spray, cleanliness of shower environment, bathroom aroma and overhead illumination. “The inspection,” says Rennard, “is usually pretty quick—no longer than five minutes, but that also depends on the comfort factor.”

His theoretical “worst shower experience” may lend a clue to what this surveyor looks for in bodily cleansing. He describes: “Upon opening the bathroom door, a horrid, wretched smell jumps out of the bathroom which is filled with clothes, lichen, algae, bacteria—and there would be toothpaste on the sinks. Upon turning [the shower] on, I would notice that the water would slowly drip out of one of the spigots and there would be an inconsistent spray that barely misted my body. The soap would be impossible to remove, the curtain would be sticky and have algae growing on it; the drain clogged with gallons of human hair and the lights would be off.”

On the other hand, an ideal showering situation includes “the smell of candy or women’s lotion. The spray would be soft, yet powerful and massaging. There should be the most expensive shampoos and conditioners with little signs saying ‘Please use these.’”

The Inspector manages to examine about two showers daily; one in the morning and one in the evening—since he doesn’t like to go to bed dirty. Rennard has evaluated all but one of the showers in Greenough. The elusive Proctor Suite shower remains behind fortified doors. “I was planning on doing them last. I think they’d be cool with it, since they’re anticipating a baby and all,” he remarks.

Rennard, although a novice shower inspector, thinks he can manage the job just fine. “This is my first time as a shower evaluator, but I don’t want you to think that it diminishes my capacity to fulfill my position. I have had experience evaluating other things such as calculators and my dad always made us evaluate the movies when we went to see them as a family.”

Thus far most of the subjects of these investigations have reacted postively. Rennard remarks, “99% of the people have welcomed the news and questioned quite genuinely, ‘How did my shower evaluate?’” However, others have firmly protested some of the lower scores they received. After receiving a cleanliness rating of “negative three,” Robert S. Lee ’03 objected, “You’re definitely wrong about that, Dave. Our bathroom is like a haven of cleanliness.”

Regardless of any self-declared havens of cleanliness, Rennard supports his admittedly subjective grading criteria. Most of Greenough’s bathrooms have passed the test—now, onto bigger and better things. Hurlbut beware.