Physical Plant maintains the buildings which keep us safe and secure while at school. In some ways, they occupy a very paternal position.
To the residents of WestCo Up 2, they have been shitty parents.
Last year, in room 227, Lauren Pellegrino watched a crazed psychobat fly out of the open space between radiator and floor and take a few nips at her head. As a result she had to undergo a painful series of rabies shots, and endure the terror of sleeping every night at the mercy of bloodthirsty bats. Physical Plant did nothing, and besides word-of-mouth, the incident remained undocumented and there was no public health announcement.
While pretty random, this is not entirely funny. About one in ten bats have rabies, and rabies is 100 percent lethal in humans. Initial symptoms are flu-like and lead to convulsions, hallucinations, and death. Once symptoms set in, even if they are no more than a cough or neck pain, it is irreversible, and the patient inevitably dies.
Clearly the appropriate response of the administration and Physical Plant would be to spend the summer clearing out the infestation to protect this year’s residents.
Apparently, this was not a priority. In February, bats returned to the very same room, which I now live in. I had to get vaccinated, a series of eight shots (three in the butt) over five hospital visits in three weeks.
Physical Plant, back on the case, delivered me a message concluding that there was no evidence of any obvious opening where [the bat] could have entered. They offered this enlightening conjecture: a bat can enter a facility if doors are left open. If a hallway door is left open a bat can fit under the bedroom door in the gap between the door and floor.
This is Physical Plant at their patronizing best. Obviously what happened is that some dumb student propped open a door downstairs, and the bat flew in, flew under the door to the stairwell, under the door to my hallway, under the door to my roommate’s room, under the door to my room, chilled for a bit, and then left through this same route. All this despite me hearing the bat in my ceiling and radiator, not in the room itself. Yes, according to them, this is the only other possibility?
The tone of the letter was not mere condescension but open, offensive; dismissal they seem to suggest we’re making this all up.
As for their explanation, there is a three-inch high gap between the radiator and the floor, and a sizable hole between the radiator and the rest of the brown segments and pipes that are in and lead from the room. The bat is always heard in this system and in the ceiling. Since my encounter, bats were also heard the same places in rooms 223 and 225, whose residents also had to go for the long series of shots.
After all this, Physical Plant finally conceded; we might have to lay some traps or something.
However, when telephoned during break, they changed their story to the same old no evidence of bats in these here rooms. Are Lauren’s wounds not enough evidence for you?
This is absurd. We pay thousands to live in University rooms on the specific condition that they are not infested with blood-lusting diseased rodents. Optimally, the University would agree to admit fault, apologize to all five affected students, and get rid of the damn bats. That last bit, though, is the real important one.
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