
Today the journalism school smelled like shit. The whole building.
More often than not, one of the two men's bathrooms in the building will completely reek of shit, like some aspiring Bob Woodward just laid out the biggest crap on Earth. This almost exclusively occurs in the first floor bathroom (newly remodled), so every time I enter that bathroom I fully expect to inhale massive quantities of shit-smelling air.
But today it wasn't so bad. Young Bob Woodward must have taken his crap early today. Perhaps he had some bad Pizza Hut from the union.
The next thing I know I'm upstairs, entering the office to merely staple some pages together, and steal a paper clip. It doesn't take me long to notice.
The entire office reeks of shit.
This did not strike me as nearly a passing fart. This shit was pungent. Like young Bob Woodward dropped trou and took a shit right there, on the coffee table between the four chairs were other aspiring journalists wait for advisers. He must have shit right on the fucking magazines.
Eager to get out, I left the office. Of course, I had forgotten to print out a part of my story packet. So I had to go back to the overcrowded lab, using an editing computer to merely print a document, while that douchey kid who looks like Carson Palmer waits to do some shitty visual comm project of him reporting from the Dave Matthews concert.
Now I must return to the epicenter of shit, the J school office.
And what do you know? The office reeks of aerosol spray. No joke. Someone had clearly sprayed Lysol, or perhaps Glade, thoroughly in this room. Seeing me again, the secretary asks if I need anything.
"Ummm.... other than for you to refrain from shitting your pants at work? No." I use one more staple, and exit the room, adding "Next time, please do a courtesy tie of the bag you must have just shat into before the smell wafts out of it."
Now we're in the classroom. I'm feeling pretty good about finishing my story after putting it off until 2 am on the night before it was due, barely conducting interviews before that point. Class is at its usual, entertaining pace - of course I can not focus for over 3 minutes at a time.
When a familiar aroma hits me.
"Is it just me, or does this entire building smell like shit?" My open ended question may possibly boost my 60% participation grade.
"It totally does," says the goofy-haired kid who's entering the Peace Corps next year.
"I heard a squirrel died in a ceiling vent," says the girl who sits in the front.
"All right everyone go out and interview people about the shit smell," the professor says, and dismisses class early.
Unfortunately I, nor my classmates, found the scoop on this one. Looks like we won't get an eight dollar bonus from the IDS for having a front page article.
Perhaps one day I will be young Carl Bernstein, and finally discover my partner's shit.




