To the editor:
I have been one acquainted with Lamont. I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I’ve worked unshowered with the greatest nonchalance. If there is one thing discovered in these long hours, it was not a societal criticism by Jane Austen, not a cultural milieu found in comparing French films, or anything about Aristotle. I learned nothing of “Heart of Darkness” in the light of Lamont Cafe. It was only in the lavatory that the words of Kurtz were made clear: “The horror. The horror.”
Dear editor, I request you dash the insanity.
Some (“Pooping in Lamont Library,” Nov. 16, 2014) imagine themselves to be Lamonsters. They study late once a fortnight and, growing delirious by 2:00 a.m. and, away from the real Lamonsters, they see the bathroom as a sanctuary or abode.
Spotted is a poor p-setting soul brushing his teeth, the visitors not knowing that is it his third day in a row of this. They do not notice the missing tissue-paper toilet seat covers, not apprehending what a diet of coffee beans expunges from one’s soul.
Though some may make the occasional dash to the third floor, they do not speak for the entire population of Harvard. Bright, fluorescent lights infiltrate every corner, yes, but is a happy spotless shine seen from every angle? Your reporters may see a “marble-coated restroom atop the temple of Mt. Olympus,” but to those with eyes to see it appears no other thing than a foul and pestilential congregation of vapors.
Once again a Crimson outsider visits a land and believes to understand its depths. This piss-poor description ignores proper ethnographic considerations, the observations of those who dwell deep on the Lamont C-floor who understand its barbarism. Your reporters may do well to visit not just the high lavatory, but the heart of Lamont. Only then will they understand the darkness and the horror.
Tyler T.M. Jankauskas ’16
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