Curse of the Western Gateway Building
By Features Reporter Oisín Henebery
When I read my timetable in early September, I had little inkling then of the immense inconvenience that would later be wreaked by the letters WGB. Those letters, mere initials then, have come to symbolise the ordeals of clothes horses and Lemsip. Indeed, as my eye wonders over my timetable each Tuesday morning, it is followed with a glance to the window so sudden that one might have mistakenly thought I had seen a ghost, or my latest rent dues.
I am quite certain also that this is a sentiment shared with many others. Although a minor distance on the whole, the walk between the Boole library and the Western Gateway Building has borne witness to soaked trousers, wet heads, and expressions lined with scowls. Company law is tough enough without some soggy socks.
Two weeks ago, for example, I was struck down. Not by a car, thank goodness, but rather a cold. Alas, no amount of herbal tea nor complaining could seem to cure it. Little papers from Hall’s throat lozenges littered my bedroom floor, and study was left untouched. While this approach to study was familiar to me, the throat lozenges were not, and in the way we do, I set about accurately accounting for my maladies. After immediately ruling out the beers on Monday, I could deduct with some certainty the cause of my ailments.
I vowed never to return to Company law again.
Upon telling others of my recent health vow, however, I was met with some suspicion. While all agreed that it must certainly be the rain which caused the affliction, few concurred with my prescription:
“You’ve missed enough classes.”
“Remember how poorly the property law exam was when you skipped classes last year.”
I could hardly refute the strength of these arguments, and so like an unfaithful husband, I broke my vow. Thus, it was last week when I hauled myself from my comfortable chair in the library and trekked down to WGB. Given the splendid conditions which had characterized the morning, the walk was cheerful. The blue sky was open and inviting. My jacket slung clumsily across my shoulders. I took my seat in the lecture theatre reflecting on my premature pledge never to return.
Such luck was short lived, however, for upon emerging I was faced with what can only be described as torrential downpours. Gazing out from beneath the canopy, I flirted with the idea of making a dash. I had surely built up some sort of immunity to the thing.
Needless to say, the following morning I began to cough.
Now I promise that this story has purpose, if not to make you question my intelligence. At this point you may well be asking certain questions.
“Why not sport an umbrella?”
“Why don’t you have a jacket?”
These would all be legitimate responses. Indeed, these were the pleasant suggestions made my mother on the phone. I have since invested in an umbrella, and will be donning a jacket more often also, but that does not quite settle it.
Umbrellas are always a tricky one. Envious I am always when I am without one, yet jealous when I have one is the paradoxical position in which I inevitably find myself. The rain here is so sudden, and often days when we expect blue skies and bird chirps, we get soaked. Some carry umbrellas religiously, and prepare for anything, but of course there is the dual difficulty of lugging the thing around with you. Another problem I have seen is the cheeky purloining of umbrellas. Forget the man stealing bread to feed his family dilemma, it is stealing umbrellas to avoid a drenching that we ought really to be discussing. Then, when you do have an umbrella, it may be soaked and tricky to transport also.
It is not a one-sided argument the umbrella.
As such, I had a little idea. I thought, given the obvious integrity of UCC students, and their commitment to a high standard of conduct, why we could not introduce a shared umbrella policy. Imagine it, outside the principal buildings of the college are baskets filled with umbrellas. Any student who leaves may borrow one and simply return it to the basket at his destination. That way good umbrellas would not be wasted inside when outside conditions are poor, people would use them only for the time required, and there would be decent distribution of umbrellas.
I understand that it may seem a little fanciful, but I see it as working perfectly if the system were respected. Although we may look from our more cynical eye upon a situation primed for exploitation, upon your next soaking, ask whether you could withhold stealing an umbrella so that you might avoid a drenching in the future.
