“Where does a ragtag, volunteer student body in need of a shower somehow find a bathroom in their darkest hour?” When Lin-Manuel Miranda first posed a version of this question circa 2015, he did not realize the degree to which his question would resonate with his NESCAC rivals.
Today, we bring you the answer. Deep in the cellars of Tufts’ longest building — the Aidekman Arts Center compound (henceforth referred to as “compound”) — there lies a labyrinth with a lavatorial terminus.
Non-thespian visitors, us included, may at first feel like imposters to these bathrooms — hidden away in the actors’ dressing rooms. Any intimidation, however, melted away the moment we stepped into the warm, loving environment of the dressing room bathrooms. Awe replaced any discomfort, and we were filled with some ineffable, primordial warmth.
First, we took a right turn and found the all-gender restroom. We knew this was so because there was a carefully crafted ink-on-paper sign, perfectly designed to mimic the more traditional plastic ones, that said, in its own words, “ALL-GENDER RESTROOM.”
The most nontraditional aspect of this bathroom is certainly its approach to sinks. The sleek black marble countertop has a pretty generous amount of counter space, but instead of two or three small, dinky sinks, the designers went for one huge kitchen style sink. It has a humongous basin which could nearly fit all the stacks of theDailypiling up in the Carm vestibule. The sink also boasts an extendable spray head, making this a convenient location for washing dishes, filling water balloons or cleaning oil off innocent ducklings with Dawn dish soap after a massive oil spill.
While standing at the sink, an astute observer might notice that the wall to the bathroom’s solitary stall is being held in place by a single C-clamp. This could be either a commentary on the state of the Tufts Theater Department or simply the result of the state of the Tufts Theater Department; the department has yet to comment on which.
We hadn’t yet discovered this bathroom when we wroteour column a few weeks ago about showers on campus (big shoutout to Daily cartoonist Juju Zweifach for the tipoff), but after close inspection, we determined that it has undoubtedly the nicest showers of any academic building at Tufts for one simple reason: it has soap, and lots of it.
There is a soap dispenser mounted to the wall. It is mostly white, with three transparent compartments for shower gel, shampoo and conditioner. They were low on all three but not out of any — a potential sign of active use.
The “shower gel,” a bourgeois codeword for soap, was deep blue with a hint of green; the shampoo’s color made it look like it was comprised of urine samples collected from the severely dehydrated. The conditioner was a welcomingly soft light yellow. Beneath the dispenser, there lay a solitary bar of extremely crusty soap. While each option in isolation was not fantastic, the mere existence of all these options at all was a welcome sight.
Now, given the soap situation, this shower could have looked like it was coated in Carm’s mysterious Tex-Mex Casserole and we would still have loved it. But it was not. No, this shower was clean, had a shower mat and had extremely powerful water pressure, leaving us wanting nothing.
When we finished scrutinizing the bathroom on the right of the dressing room, we crossed the room to find a nearly identical restroom on the other side. The only major difference was that there was a clothing steamer sitting just outside the bathroom, with which, under the impression it was a vacuum, Sam successfully steamed three entire floor tiles.
The compound dressing room bathrooms: 10/10 — these bathrooms left us “Satisfied.”
