By Tess Fiumefreddo || Satirical Columnist 

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Picture this: a hot, sunny day at Franklin & Marshall College. Birds are chirping, kids are laughing, and parents are sobbing over their children becoming adults. My parents refuse to cry in front of me and just leave. As soon as they’re gone, I decide to wash my hands before I get started with my day. This is something that should be no problem whatsoever, correct?

Wrong. When I walk into the bathroom and turn on the tap, the sink decides to explode, effectively drenching me from head to toe. With water forcefully attacking me, I blindly attempt to turn off the sink; instead, I somehow make it even worse by pushing the handle in the wrong direction. I’m too embarrassed to yell for help, so I shut my eyes and feel around for the handle once more. I’m finally able to turn it off and stare at the horrifying mess I’ve made.

Everything, no exaggeration, is covered in water. I look into the mirror, absolutely mortified at what I’ve done, only to see an even more terrifying sight: myself. My hair is hanging limply around my face, my perfect makeup has given me two black eyes, and my once white shirt is now an opaque cloth in front of my polka dot bra. I don’t have a clue what to do next, so I wade my way out of the bathroom and look both ways down the hall. Thankfully, no one is there to witness my walk of shame, but my flip flops enjoy breaking the silence with their repetition of squeak squash, squeak squash. I move as quickly as I can into my room, and I am grateful to only be humiliated in front of myself.

Later that day, I reenter the bathroom to take a nice, relaxing shower after such a hectic afternoon. Once I step inside and turn it on, a similar sequence of events happens once again. The second the water goes on, I am pushed against the back of the shower wall. Now, if you’ve somehow never had to use a community shower, I’ll let you in on a secret: they’re pretty disgusting. Hair, shampoo, and other undefinable substances line the walls, and you definitely don’t want to find yourself pressed up against one.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly where I find myself. The water feels like knives pressing against my skin, and never have I ever felt such sharp pain all at once. I’m being attacked by something that’s supposed to keep me alive, and I find myself hating it more and more. As there are other people in the bathroom, I don’t want to walk out of the shower after only thirty seconds, so I subject myself to more torture. I don’t think I’ve ever showered so quickly in my life. After the damage is over, I look down and notice that my entire body is red from the pain. Even worse, my back is completely sore from being so abruptly shoved, and I just know it’s going to bruise.

Needless to say, I have tested out every single shower and sink to figure out which ones won’t lead to my certain death. I have been here for almost a month now, and I can confidently say that I haven’t been attacked by water any more. Well, kind of. I have seen a spider in a shower which has caused me to slip and fall, but I can’t blame that entire event on the water, now can I?

The moral of the story is: water may be necessary for survival, but don’t believe for one second that it’s your friend.

First-year Tess Fiumefreddo is a Contributing Writer. Her email is