I have recently become painfully aware of one of the many great shortcomings of humankind. I have to drink water, or I will not be hydrated…???
Shocking revelation, I know, and you may be doubting its basis, but it is the truth. I cannot fix and consume the water molecules in the vapor of the air. I cannot absorb, through my skin, the water in which I shower. The fact that I have, at times, carried around a water bottle to which I have become emotionally attached does not mean anything. And although we could talk all day about the fact that science is behind the needs of humanity, the truth remains the same: I have to drink water. wtf.
It was an unfortunately sunny Monday morning when the epiphany struck. It began as a distant pressure in my head– innocent enough, or so it seemed. As the morning wore on, the pressure intensified into a dull ache. I had been growing irritable under the fluorescent lights of UVM’s buildings. The RedBull that I had been consuming was, for some reason, only making me jittery and anxious and doing nothing to make me actually feel better. Why, cruel fate?
Putting a dollar in a vending machine for a green tea, it struck me. Water. Life-giving water. I was a fool. How long had it been since I felt the cool, crisp, clean taste of water? Too long, to be sure.
Descending the Waterman stairs and fighting to push the door open, I emerged like a vampire into the daylight. Everything hurt as I crossed the Waterman green. I leaned back to yank open the doors of Williams. Ascending a new set of stairs, I questioned whether I should attend class, or just give up on college altogether. Well, more than halfway now. Why turn back?
I huffed and puffed at the top of the stairs on the fourth floor of Williams. I waved to a classmate, next to whom I had sat the week before. They looked at me as though we had never met. Could this get any worse?
I relaxed somewhat as the classmate went into the nearby room; as they left they revealed a water fountain. I approached the structure, waiting behind another student. I tried not to think about whether they were getting too close to the faucet, or where their mouth had been before this. Suddenly, I was just as stressed as when I reached the top of the stairs. Maybe more so. The anonymous student took their standard five-second drink, and they too moved along.
I stepped forward and leaned into the fountain, pushing down on the button. I expected the water to be somehow relieving. I expected it to aid in the dissipation of this full-body tension. I expected it to taste good, or to be cold, or at least to be lukewarm. Let this be a warning to you all: the water in the fountain on the fourth floor of Williams is warm enough to boil a lobster. It tastes like a mixture of plastic and metal. It comes directly from hell, not from our beloved Water Tower. I couldn’t stand to drink more than the sip that had snuck its way past my lips.
And so I suffered. I suffered, as I do so frequently. I mean, who the hell remembers to drink water? If anybody gets any updates on humans being able to osmosis, please contact me at email@example.com.
Categories: April 12, eliza ligon, water cooler