Disembarking a loft bed has an inherent indecency to it, especially when you’re a nineteen year old college student. Firstly, there’s the unflattering contortions you have have to make to climb down the ladder, which digs into your feet, already two ugly enough appendages. Your stomach folds in on itself, everything hangs in ways it shouldn’t and you just want to get it over with as quickly as possible. You don’t want people to see you getting off a loft bed and you don’t want to see people do it, so maybe you avert your eyes a little when it happens. We climbed trees as children and as monkeys. No young adult looks attractive behaving like either. Not that this deters us in the slightest from doing just that.
It’s an even more unattractive endeavor when you’re going through these humiliating motions in order to take a shit at three in the morning. Thankfully no one witnesses the entire sequence of animalian tendencies, but you know you’re doing it, and now you’re painfully aware that you’re human, just a dirty hairless chimp really, and you probably should have taken a shower before you went to bed because everything’s just uncomfortably sticky. It’s especially fun when, squinting like a blinded chihuahua, you run into someone you know in the hallway. She’s up at two in order to flirt with a boy with whom she has an unspecified relationship, and they’re probably waiting until the common room is completely, assuredly empty in order to have sex there, or something of that nature, because there may be polygamy involved with his best friend, and it’s really very complicated and you don’t want to think about it at three in the morning.
The really concerning part is that if you’re coherent enough to have their fucked up relationship flit across your mind, then the turd you’re about to pass in the bathroom definitely could have flitted through theirs. But then you start thinking about polygamy, because it’s a hell of a lot more interesting, and maybe they all have some sort of arrangement that makes it work out. You don’t know, it could be perfectly natural. Our nearest relation in the animal kingdom is the bonobo and they live in peaceful, utopian little tribes where everyone just happens to have sex with everyone. They’re like hippies except without the secret trust fund to fall back on and without the sad, depressing future domestic life they’ll eventually enter when they hit thirty and start craving stability.
That’s when you reach the communal bathroom and become aware that your neighbor is kneeling at the toilet vomiting up the excessive amount of alcohol she drank two hours previously. And you kind of judge her a little because it’s a weeknight, the parties aren’t poppin’, and it’s just a bit pathetic. However, whatever superiority you may have felt immediately dissipates when you realize that it actually still is the weekend, a Friday no less, and you’re in the grey area between drunk and hungover, and you kind of hate yourself for forgetting that. Because it’s all fun and games until your utopian little tribe falls asleep. You may not be able to have sex with everyone like the bonobos, but at least you can commiserate.
You do your business, wash your hands, and abuse the paper towel dispenser. At this point your smeared makeup just accentuates your imperfections and unexciting averageness, so you don’t really want to look in the mirror but you do it anyway. You kind of poke pointlessly at a red spot for as long as it takes to realize you’re making it worse or until someone walks in on you, whichever comes first.
The lovers in the hallway have disappeared so you hurry back to your room hoping not to see anyone else. You struggle with the door just long enough for some attractively disheveled nobody to walk out of the laundry room looking for the men’s restroom. You’re almost tired enough to pointedly ask him who the hell he is and why he’s in your building but instead you politely tell him that the restroom is on the fifth floor. Then you have a coughing spasm.
This is why you return to bed angry and wake up angry. You really wish you hadn’t left in the first place and you really wish the carefully crafted and restrained person you present to the world were actually real. And this is why loft beds should be abolished.