Among the molecules I am particularly fond of, H2O ranks fairly highly. So when I am denied my constitutional right to running water, I get understandably. . . testy.
Even before Sandy breezed through and twisted up our pipe lines, my hall of residence had issues with water. I’m given to understand that this is a frequent thing on Mona. Don’t care. When I am in residence the very taps and valves should bend to my whims and produce clean, potable water. Is that too much to ask?
After Sandy breezed through it was like they had the perfect excuse. Recent natural disasters should not stand in the way of personal hygiene! This is a tropical country. Our ancestors were falling into fresh rivers and streams every five steps. You who have locked us away in the dungeons of academia are morally compelled to provide us with the water we would have had we been allowed to run free. Preferably through our faucets and shower heads. Heated.
I can’t cook*. I can’t bathe. Simple bodily functions have become an Arctic Expedition as I race to find a bathroom that has not yet succumbed to the drying of the polar ice caps. And I will not go into detail about the bathroom stalls without water. No one needs that mental picture more than once in their lifetime.
Seriously, UWI? Rex has a million and one drums just for situations like this. Unless your master plan is to get me to spend more time showering at my boyfriend’s flat you’re doing a piss poor job.
The water’s back (for now), and you’d better not do it again.
* – Inability to cook may or may not be a direct result of the water shortages. I was well on my way to learning though, thankyouverymuch.