Derrick Rossignol

Derrick Rossignol

Puppy

She held me and told me I was a good boy. Then she put me back in the crate. She already has a dog, she said. It’s an old dog, with sore knees and worsening vision, but she seems to think he’ll live for a long time. I don’t think so. He’s in rough shape. He’s going to die. Soon, probably. She sees it. The fact she’s here means something.

"Maybe I’ll be back for you another time, boy."

Let’s hope so. She rubbed my side, turned and left. It’s filthy here. There’s nobody to clean. I’d do it if I had thumbs and access to the cupboard under the fridge. Who the hell works here? Nobody’s ever around. She said she might be back, though. I should make sure my coat’s clean and my tail’s extra waggily for when she does. Then she’ll take me home! If she comes back.

Watch The Throne: Exploring the aesthetic variety of UMaine’s public restrooms

(This gallery originally posted here)

By Derrick Rossignol (twitter)

Since its establishment in 1865, the University of Maine has undergone many changes in order to accommodate shifting focuses and to keep up with the times. The facilities that house and foster the myriad programs offered at UMaine have also adapted over the years, but with a university as expansive as this, there are bound to be buildings that are given more frequent attention and others that don’t receive as much focus.

What this has caused is a vast aesthetic variety around campus. Apart from a few new advancements, like paperless hand dryers and motion-activated faucets, bathrooms, in a fundamental sense, have not seen much change in the past 150 years. Still, along with other elements of the University, the public restrooms on campus have been given varying amounts of care and renovation. Along with disparate levels of traffic, differences in location, and a variety in the types of people using them, this has created a functional and visual potpourri of the University of Maine public bathrooms:

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The Memorial Union is likely the most trafficked building on campus, which has made its bathrooms a prime spot for “toilet humor” and social commentary such as this.

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The Memorial Union was dedicated on June 13, 1953 and underwent renovations in 2001, but it seems this heater, located in the same bathroom as the previous photo, has been forgotten.

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This sink in Libby Hall has also not aged well.

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Speaking of age, somebody decided to poke fun at the antiquated font used on the women’s restroom door in Neville Hall.

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This bathroom in South Stevens Hall also shows signs of aging, but from the correct angle, there is also a pleasing symmetry.

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Fernald Hall is home to the Women’s Resource Center and the Women in the Curriculum and Women Studies Programs, and the feminist-leaning messages of the door and wall postings in the bathroom seem to reflect those values.

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The large, slightly opaque windows in this Little Hall bathroom can create an eerie effect at the right time of day or in certain weather.

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This stall in Deering Hall has color variety and a crisp feel, with a touch of age in the worn circle that traces the lock’s path.

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The same stall in Deering Hall also features wall scribbles, which had to be scratched into the marble in order to last.

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This Winslow Hall restroom is compact and tough to see in until you find the light pull cord by the mirror.

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The “access” bathroom in the basement of Murray Hall is the most baffling one of all. Signs upstairs and downstairs tell where to go, but they lead to a large, dark room that contains janitorial equipment, heaters and boilers, and an old football carnival-type game. The bathroom is located at the end of the room and can be hard to find without a flashlight.

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Once inside the Murray Hall access bathroom, it seems more like a private, personal bathroom, as it contains toiletries and a shower, making it seem like perhaps somebody has made their home in the basement of Murray Hall.

All photos were taken with a iPad mini with Retina Display, except for “2 of 12,” which was taken with an iPod Touch. All photos were taken between October 1 and 9, 2014, except for “2 of 12,” which was taken in February 2014. All photos were edited in Photoshop.

08-05-2014: Earthworm 4

yearofstories:

"You think I could fit in that straw?"

Greg continues to explore between the cushions. It’s been weeks since he’s moved from the couch, surviving off found crumbs. Which is fine, but he’s getting annoying.

"Hey buddy, have you thought about getting a job?" I ask him.

He turns to me and his eyes light up.

"Damn straight I have!" He brushes a pubicly curly hair off himself. "I put in an application at this temp agency and I’m waiting for… actually, could you check the mail?"

I brought the mail in earlier and noticed a letter for Greg from an address I didn’t recognize. Also, he never gets mail, so that was strange in itself. I get up and get the letter from the kitchen counter.

"Yeah man, there’s something here for you, probably from them. Want me to open it?"

"Please, I don’t have the energy. Read it to me."

I open the letter and start, “‘Dear Mr. Earthstone’… Earthstone?”

"I liked how it sounded both contemporary and Dark Ages-y"

"You’re… ‘Thank you for submitting your application. After careful review of it and assessment of your qualifications, we believe the following available job opportunities are well suited to your abilities: shoelace’… Alright, this is…"

"I’m not long enough, next."

He’s too invested for me to convince him this is clearly some kind of insanely bizarre joke. So, on I soldier.

"Pipe cleaner."

"Can’t hold my shape that long."

"Straw."

"Not hollow enough. Just send them this one."

"Michael Cera’s mustache."

"It’d be an improvement, but I couldn’t take being under that nose all day."

"Fake booger"

"I’ll sleep on that one. Aight, I’m gonna go cover myself in toothpaste. That shit’s inteeeense."

I follow my heart,
held inside.
It goes not,
and I too stay.
Asking for escape,
it beats.
It goes not,
knows not,
but grows and slows not.

06-09-2014: Camp counselor realizing her own mortality while introducing the next activity

yearofstories:

"We’re all going to dye."