Some say college is a sexual awakening, a time where the youth can shed the confines of their parents’ disapproval and emerge into their young adulthood as the hot, slinky things they were born to be. Those same people probably didn’t foresee the pain and suffering of communal bathrooms. 

Anticipating such bathroom-related trauma, some first years, such as UC Santa Barbara student Serenity Giles, made preparations.

“I made sure I had a ruler with me when I picked my dorm room to meticulously measure out the shortest distance between potential rooms and the bathroom. I was really confused though when I arrived and realized that my dorm and the bathroom were farther apart than 5 centimeters,” Giles said.

Not many people realize the implications of having to walk to the bathroom. Many think that by avoiding having to hear the toilet flush at 2 a.m., or drunken chatter at 3 a.m., they dodged a bullet and protected their precious sleep. But they didn’t consider protecting themselves from the burning shame of walking back to their room in a towel, which lasts longer than sleep deprivation. 

It’s a realization that comes after the first shower, or in the case of freshman Cameron McDonald living in Santa Cruz Residence Hall, before the water is even turned on.

“I tried to shower the first night but didn’t go through with it because I realized I would have to walk back to my room in just a towel. It’s week four of school and I’m still trying to mentally prepare myself for the walk. My therapist has insisted we move our sessions online because she doesn’t want to meet with me in person,” McDonald said.

Freshmen who bit the bullet have developed their own strategies for avoiding embarrassment.

“I once walked out of the bathroom in just my towel wrap and had to walk through a huge group of guys who were going out. I saw my soul leave my body and run into my room — I still haven’t found it actually. But anyway, now, to make sure that doesn’t happen again, I just poke my head out of the bathroom door and scream really loudly — normally anybody in the hallway scatters,” Essence Smith, a freshman living in San Miguel Residence Hall, said in an interview. 

In addition to freshmen, older UCSB students still in treatment for their towel trauma have come forward with their stories. Many still shower at odd hours, have adopted a compulsion to sprint to their rooms following their showers and some even shower with their clothes fully on. 

Yolanda Vargas, a third-year whose clothes are always vaguely damp, expands on this behavior.

“The way I see it, if you shower with your clothes on, you’re killing two birds with one stone; you don’t need to do laundry, and you don’t have to worry about being caught in a towel by the hot guy down the hall,” Vargas said.

As classes ramp up and school really kicks into gear, students will either stop caring about trivial issues such as wrapping their dignity in a shred of towel, or they will use their workload as an excuse to not shower altogether. And thus, UCSB students, when facing the long expanse of a hall in just your towel, you must begin to ask yourselves: “Do I really need to shower, or will a fourteenth layer of deodorant, another spritz of perfume and a quick prayer do the trick?”

Serrano Ham is currently infiltrating the UC Santa Barbara furry community as an undercover investigative journalist.