RED ALERT: BATHROOM CLOSED FOR CLEANING
...and this close to it still being crossover hour?!
Tuesday, 7:35 p.m.
Reported incident in the Frisc at 12:32 a.m.:
A library user was playing Taylor Swift's "Love Story" out loud and singing along, accompanied with giggles and shrieks. The otherwise silent area was unsure of how to address the situation.
"That's just embarrassing," one onlooker said to no one in particular.
Suddenly, the culprit became aware of her actions. "I'm totally humiliated!"
The reporter on the scene had reasons to believe that it was a dare, as the girl resumed her activity minutes later.
An uprising took place within the 25 Decibels. "Can we save Taylor Swift for the shower???"
A library user was playing Taylor Swift's "Love Story" out loud and singing along, accompanied with giggles and shrieks. The otherwise silent area was unsure of how to address the situation.
"That's just embarrassing," one onlooker said to no one in particular.
Suddenly, the culprit became aware of her actions. "I'm totally humiliated!"
The reporter on the scene had reasons to believe that it was a dare, as the girl resumed her activity minutes later.
An uprising took place within the 25 Decibels. "Can we save Taylor Swift for the shower???"
Thursday, 5:55 p.m.
Note to study room users:
The doors push in. STOP TRYING TO PULL THEM. You will only fall (as I once actually saw happen).
A haiku to help you remember:
eager to join friends/ you pull on study room door/ fucking dumbasses*
*Please be advised that TFTF does not take credit for this work of creativity.
The doors push in. STOP TRYING TO PULL THEM. You will only fall (as I once actually saw happen).
A haiku to help you remember:
eager to join friends/ you pull on study room door/ fucking dumbasses*
*Please be advised that TFTF does not take credit for this work of creativity.
Sent from a friend at Monday, 9:42 p.m.
My friends complain that the Frisc's noise levels make work prohibitive. Others bemoan the lack of computers. Maybe the horrific lighting.
I, too, am constantly frustrated by study sessions in the Frisc. I never seem to get ANYTHING done. I don't care if you and your friend want to roll on the floor laughing. Go ahead, answer your phone. I don't give a fuck.
But if you and I have ever been romantically involved, can you PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY - FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO STUDY?
Every goddamn time I'm here, there's some awkward run-in.
It's the guy I hooked up with last night, I've been wondering if he was going to call but it's too soon after the hookup to know for sure. Here we are, awkwardly conversing by the stairs about the paper he has due tomorrow for some obscure AmCiv seminar. Awkward awkward awkward.
It's the guy who I'm hooking up with but didn't really feel like seeing tonight, now he wants to know what I'm working on and when I'm going to be leaving. As if.
It's my ex, who I used to run into here all the time when we were a thing. Guess I should've thought to negotiate who gets Frisc-rights post-breakup.
I'm here, and I'm consumed with who the fuck I'm going to run into this time. Who of my portfolio of awkward relationships is going to appear out of nowhere while I'm struggling to staple that zillion-page article?
The worst part? I'm here to STUDY. I look like complete and total shit. If you want to run into me at a frat party, fine. I'm prepared. Sluttified. Made up. No dark circles.
The thing about Frisc collisions is that you can never anticipate them. Or prepare yourself. They will find you after you just messed up your hair in academic frustration. After you rubbed your eyes, smudging mascara across your undereye. You're bloodshot. Broken out. Washed out under the fluorescents.
So why don't I just give up coming here, you ask? I'm a sadist. As I write, I'm surreptiously sneaking glances at a boy I made out with last Halloween. FML
I, too, am constantly frustrated by study sessions in the Frisc. I never seem to get ANYTHING done. I don't care if you and your friend want to roll on the floor laughing. Go ahead, answer your phone. I don't give a fuck.
But if you and I have ever been romantically involved, can you PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY - FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO STUDY?
Every goddamn time I'm here, there's some awkward run-in.
It's the guy I hooked up with last night, I've been wondering if he was going to call but it's too soon after the hookup to know for sure. Here we are, awkwardly conversing by the stairs about the paper he has due tomorrow for some obscure AmCiv seminar. Awkward awkward awkward.
It's the guy who I'm hooking up with but didn't really feel like seeing tonight, now he wants to know what I'm working on and when I'm going to be leaving. As if.
It's my ex, who I used to run into here all the time when we were a thing. Guess I should've thought to negotiate who gets Frisc-rights post-breakup.
I'm here, and I'm consumed with who the fuck I'm going to run into this time. Who of my portfolio of awkward relationships is going to appear out of nowhere while I'm struggling to staple that zillion-page article?
The worst part? I'm here to STUDY. I look like complete and total shit. If you want to run into me at a frat party, fine. I'm prepared. Sluttified. Made up. No dark circles.
The thing about Frisc collisions is that you can never anticipate them. Or prepare yourself. They will find you after you just messed up your hair in academic frustration. After you rubbed your eyes, smudging mascara across your undereye. You're bloodshot. Broken out. Washed out under the fluorescents.
So why don't I just give up coming here, you ask? I'm a sadist. As I write, I'm surreptiously sneaking glances at a boy I made out with last Halloween. FML
Sunday, 11:38 p.m.
Overheard: "I've been on Facebook for three hours, but because I've been in the SciLi, I can pretend I was being productive."
Amen.
Amen.
Sunday, 11:47 a.m.
There is an odd trust system that develops within the confines of the Frisc. We ask perfect strangers to keep an eye on our laptops and we share our personal space as we crowd at the computer table. Consistent Frisc users return to the same location daily, creating a de facto Frisc posse. We may not acknowledge each other outside of the SciLi’s walls, but in here, we smile at each other as if to say, “I feel your pain.”
Thursday, 8:29 p.m.
... and on that note, the 50 decibels is the de facto calling area. You are expected - if not encouraged - to lounge on the reddish leather thing and speak as loudly as you possibly can. And not a single person can object - even if they can hear you over in the 00s - because YOU are in the 50 decibel zone.
Thursday, 8:28 p.m.
Here's the difference between the 25 and the 00 decibels:
You get glared at for answering your phone in the 00s.
You get glared at for answering your phone in the 00s.
Wednesday, 10:05 p.m.
Supporting the theory of cross-over hour:
10 minutes ago almost all of the tables in the area to the left of the 25 decibels were empty. They are now all full and the volume level has escalated tremendously.
Sunday, 2:46 p.m.
Spring forward and outward
The greatest impact of unseasonably warm weather can be seen in the Frisc. The moment Providence hits 55 degrees and sunny, sitting in the Frisc becomes unbearable and studiers feel as if they cannot miss out on the beautiful weather. Normally crowded hours - like the post-Sunday brunch block - become quieter and an air of depression sets in among those who are forced to stay inside the Frisc. Sitting here, in our wheely chairs, staring at the glowing computer screens, all we can do is talk about how beautiful it is outside and how we are completely missing out.
The greatest impact of unseasonably warm weather can be seen in the Frisc. The moment Providence hits 55 degrees and sunny, sitting in the Frisc becomes unbearable and studiers feel as if they cannot miss out on the beautiful weather. Normally crowded hours - like the post-Sunday brunch block - become quieter and an air of depression sets in among those who are forced to stay inside the Frisc. Sitting here, in our wheely chairs, staring at the glowing computer screens, all we can do is talk about how beautiful it is outside and how we are completely missing out.
Wednesday, 10:30 p.m.
The inconsistent quality of Frisc coffee has led one of my tablemates to an extreme measure. Sitting next to his laptop is a personal French press.
Wednesday, 10:23 a.m.
Upon continued reflection of the Frisc bathroom debacle... why is there no bathroom in the lobby? Students often use the study spaces in the lobby as a time saver. Why waste part of an awkward half hour walking up and down the stairs when you can just plop down at one of the cute little white tables (which I thought were silver for the better part of last year)? The inherent problem: Obviously if you are in the lobby you are drinking coffee which, BIG SHOCK, creates a need for a bathroom. And then you have to waste all that time swiping in just so you can go wait on the line in the basement. If a building is going to place a bathroom anywhere, honestly, isn't the lobby the most common sense choice? Oh wait — this is the Frisc — common sense logic need not apply.
Tuesday, 10:43 p.m.
The Frisc bathroom situation has gotten so dire that I just took the elevator to the 6th floor so I could pee without waiting for A HALF HOUR.
This is unacceptable. Faunce has eight stalls in the basement bathroom and it is never crowded in that building. Could they not have diverted a few resources? Are they (the ambiguous they being the overlords of the Frisc) evil sadists who want us all to develop bladder infections?
Another submission from a friend of TFTF, sent at 8:56 p.m. on a Monday
A girl tries to look good when she leaves the house, but, heaven knows, it isn't always easy when she's a full-time college student and hasn't gotten eight uninterrupted hours of sleep in, oh, about two years. If that's the case, no matter what, she's going to need a little help.
So this is for you, Frisc bathroom. You're killing me here. You bolt a bare fluorescent tube on each side of the mirror, it's going to look like backstage in Guantánamo's dressing room. You're washing your hands after your fifth mugful of totally necessary coffee sends you hurtling in there to empty your bladder. You stand there, rubbing that translucent pink industrial soap on your hands, and you DIE. Every pore, every imperfection, all of the sorry streaks of redness veining your eyes from exhaustion and caffeine: it's all there for you, marvelous and loathsome.
At the same time, that inhuman light somehow perfectly captures the depressing, cold grossness of the pools of water stagnating around the sink, not to mention each sorry wad of paper towel or toilet paper littering the floor. You were wrong, Jean-Paul. Hell isn't other people. It's this mirror.
This is not what I need, Frisc. I expect better. Make a girl feel proud to be up at 3 a.m. on a Thursday, staring at the blank Microsoft Word page where her French paper ought to be.
So this is for you, Frisc bathroom. You're killing me here. You bolt a bare fluorescent tube on each side of the mirror, it's going to look like backstage in Guantánamo's dressing room. You're washing your hands after your fifth mugful of totally necessary coffee sends you hurtling in there to empty your bladder. You stand there, rubbing that translucent pink industrial soap on your hands, and you DIE. Every pore, every imperfection, all of the sorry streaks of redness veining your eyes from exhaustion and caffeine: it's all there for you, marvelous and loathsome.
At the same time, that inhuman light somehow perfectly captures the depressing, cold grossness of the pools of water stagnating around the sink, not to mention each sorry wad of paper towel or toilet paper littering the floor. You were wrong, Jean-Paul. Hell isn't other people. It's this mirror.
This is not what I need, Frisc. I expect better. Make a girl feel proud to be up at 3 a.m. on a Thursday, staring at the blank Microsoft Word page where her French paper ought to be.
Sunday, 1:58 p.m.
Lunch: A tactical error
At certain instances, Ratty and Frisc behavior interact, creating a situation with more variables than the average studier may have accounted for. In an attempt to avoid the brunch rush, the typical student might go to the Ratty at 1 p.m.. The lines are slightly shorter and there are tables available because the I-just-woke-up rush is exiting. But to where are they exiting? More often than not, the Frisc.
So the stealthy 1 p.m. brunch eater returns to the Frisc only to discover that the seat so valiantly claimed at 10 a.m. has vanished. Between 12:30 and 1:30 p.m. on a Sunday morning, the Frisc population increases exponentially, leaving the early riser without a place to return to.
Sunday, 10:34 a.m.
It's exciting when there are about fifteen people in the entire basement... and you recognize easily half of them. Don't I feel super cool this morning!
