Matt shook his head. “I have to check out of this room later. I don’t want to scrub chicken snot off the ceiling!”
Seth laughed. “If your chicken’s slinging snot that high, you’re not clearing his airway frequently enough.”
Matt offered a what-else-can-a-guy-do shrug. Held up his hand for a high five. “Rumspringa, baby!”
“Rumspringa!” Seth returned the gesture. Then, “It’s our last day as freshmen. Wanna hit the showers for old time’s sake?”
“Sure!” Matt agreed. He stripped off his boxer briefs, slung a towel over his shoulder, grabbed his Dopp-kit, and motioned for Seth to lead the way. Apparently, everyone else was already there.
The communal bathroom was down the hall. It was a U-shaped, windowless affair with two-doors, one at the top of each leg of the U. One leg, the narrow one, had 4 toilet stalls. Turn right, and the little cross-section held 4 urinals. Another right opened onto the wider leg, with its 4 shower stalls and 4 sinks. It was utilitarian. It was also Biblical numerology writ large: completeness and creation; the 4 corners of the earth; the 4 seasons; the 4 living creatures guarding God’s throne; and the 4-fold division of humanity.
It was also smelly—and crowded. Suspiciously crowded, Matt concluded.
Guys in bathrobes stood at each of the sinks, shaving.
Matt hadn’t seen bathrobes in this room since the fall semester. Bathrobes and underwear had slowly yielded to his au-naturel look.
All the showers were occupied, belching out a steamy mist.
Four guys (all naked, with towels slung over their shoulders) waited in line for shower vacancies.
Matt and Seth joined the queue.
Then it got weird.
The other 16 guys from their floor filed in from the toilet side of the room and crowded against the back wall, like spectators. Oh yeah, all of them were naked, too.
Weirder yet: one of the guys from this new group carried a folding stand and a keyboard, which he lugged to the middle of the room, set up, then started playing—like he was in some lounge, instead of in the middle of a nasty bathroom surrounded by mostly naked guys, shower steam, and the moldy miasma of splashed urine.
The music seemed to be a prelude of sorts, which, Matt would learn later was an original creation, as was the song that followed, which made sense (there not being any existing song that captured this moment, this unique setting and audience).
Seth tapped Matt’s shoulder to get his attention. “You started this, you know. The whole singing-in-the-shower-room bit.”
“I never brought in a keyboard,” Matt protested.
“We’ve improved on your concept is all,” Seth said. Then he handed Matt a folded sheet of paper. (Where the paper came from, anyone’s guess.)
“These are the lyrics,” Seth said. “Yellow highlighting is for the six of us in line. Green highlighting is your part. You’ll have to sing it. No lip-syncing today.”
Sing? Alone, as in solo?
Keyboard guy motioned it was time to start, plunked out the opening chords.
Seth and the 4 otherguys in line—sang.
There’s a jingly, jangly gonging from the clock by my room
And the one in the belfry, too…
The guys at the sinks pivoted to face the showers.
Down in the parlor a wormy, one-eyed bird…
Sink guys opened their bathrobes, exposing their cocks.
Keeps peeking out to say “Yoo-hoo.”
Sink guys thrust their hips forward and back, their cocks flopping like dying chickens.
