My Ceiling Gives Me a Second Shower



Set the world on fire by getting yourself wet with a free second shower.


If you thought that the best thing about living on the lower floors of McMahon Hall was the rats, think again: They have strong competition in McMahon’s unexpected second showers. People rave about the modern amenities, the spacious kitchens and the possibility of sharing an apartment with eight strangers, but for me, showering in my bathroom is my favorite part of the day. 

You see, I get not one, but two showers per day. After I wash with my usual soap and water, I get out, dry off and receive my second shower — this time, from the ceiling — and I know that I’ll never even look at dirt again. 

Double the shower, double the power. 

You might wonder, “How are there ceiling leaks on the fourth floor? Has Fordham spent our tuition dollars and endowments on a new McMahon waterpark without telling anyone?” No one, not even the Facilities workers who frequent my room, knows. Could there be drawbacks to this bathroom situation? Any negative is canceled out because I have now befriended every employee from Facilities. Can you say the same? 

My roommates and I have adopted them into our apartment as residents. We have matching friendship bracelets, and it’s prearranged that my first child will be named after them. 

During the second week of school, my roommate put in our inaugural work order for the mold already accumulating on our bathroom ceiling. In the immortal words of the first Facilities worker to visit our room, “Just shower with the door open.” Since I didn’t know my roommates all that well, this option provided a perfect opportunity for us to grow closer in a way that I never could have expected. For any shower singers, this is a free concert with a guaranteed audience. These moments, especially with the open-door policy we adopted, make my long days at Rose Hill really worth it: Before I climb into the Ram Van, I am cleansed with the drips of a shower that only a Lincoln Center resident can get. It’s a reminder of my heritage, my homeland. 

You might think that McMahon was built in 1793, when more thought was given to chamber pots and servants’ quarters than useless concepts like bathroom ventilation or basic sanitation. In fact, this luxury building was constructed in 1993, less than a decade before Jeff Bezos started monitoring every bathroom in America to notify citizens when they run out of toilet paper. The mold and second shower didn’t matter back in 1993: No one then had hot showers, nor did they care about the torrential downpour on their hearth and home. 

The typhoon in our bathroom must be a gift from the Jesuits — Catholics love holy water, right? What’s more likely: That McMahon is an old building in need of repairs, or that the Rev. Joseph M. McShane, S.J., is working with Campus Ministry in an outreach attempt at conversion right here on campus? This is Fordham holy water directed at your naked body, just when you least expect it and when you most need it, according to certain higher-ups at the school. McShane and Campus Ministry only have the spiritual wellbeing of students in mind. 

This washing by shower-water then ceiling-water also resembles baptism, and just as John the Baptist first baptized with water and Jesus baptized with the Holy Spirit, I first wash with water and McShane washes me with the holy water from the ceiling — that voice from the heavens might as well be Jesus direct-messaging me on Instagram. 

The mold that grows on our ceiling and walls has also grown in my heart, and as a bonus, I am much more familiar with my roommates, I receive free shower concerts and I can experience the best cleaning provided by the University president himself.

After everyone reads this, I’m sure that my apartment will be the most sought-after suite in all of McMahon next year. Here’s to scheduling weekly mold removals and sleepovers — just make sure to bring nail polish to share with the maintenance workers.