The Stuy Bathroom Experience

Reviewing the best, the mildly okay, the bad, and the horrible Stuyvesant boys’ bathrooms.

Reading Time: 4 minutes

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By Laurina Xie

No one likes a public bathroom. Whether it’s at a McDonald’s, movie theater, or gas station, sometimes everyone would rather just wait it out. But school bathrooms are the worst—they’re the only option you have for eight hours. As a user of the esteemed Stuyvesant bathrooms, I have seen the best, the mildly okay, the bad, and the egregious offerings of these smelly havens. I shall rate these bathrooms for the benefit of the students at Stuyvesant who use them.

The First Floor Boys’ Bathroom:

I’ve only been in this bathroom once, considering it was locked every other time I tried to enter it. The one-time experience was actually quite enjoyable. Early in the morning means clean floors, no foul-looking stalls, and full paper towel and soap dispensers. But it should be known that it’s mostly teachers who occupy this bathroom. This could be the reason why it’s so clean, as teachers are better kept than students. Or, the teachers are covering up a secret business. To be clear, I am not proclaiming that Stuyvesant teachers run an underground fight club inside of the bathroom, but it is a possible explanation for why they always have “headaches.” Either way, it’s a higher-tier bathroom, but take that with a grain of salt due to my lack of experience. An 8/10.*

The Second Floor Boys’ Bathroom:

As the bathroom on the floor of the bridge entrance and the Senior Bar, the second floor bathroom suffers from constant congestion. Whether it be people changing in and out of their gym uniforms or a nameless, faceless group of seven boys trying to skip their Global class, it’s never easy to find an empty stall. On the off chance that you do, you’re too embarrassed to do your business because of the amassing boy horde outside of your stall. But for no astonishingly bad environment, a low 6/10 for the second floor.

The Third Floor Boys’ Bathroom:

Imagine someone hands you a rotten egg. The egg was laid three years ago and has transformed into an inconceivable object of matter. You crack the egg open, then make and eat an omelet with said egg. The taste of this omelet is what the third floor bathroom smells like—so bad that I believe there’s a risk of dying via radiation exposure. I am not going to sit here and pretend as if bathrooms smell like rainbows and sunshine, but to smell like the lost tomb of Alexander the Great is an unfathomably disgusting feat. 0/10; it would be negative if it didn’t smell slightly better than that one subway car.

The Fourth Floor Boys’ Bathroom:


The Fifth Floor Boys’ Bathroom:

For a bathroom on the same floor as the cafeteria, you’d expect a lot of people coming in and out after eating, but it is relatively quiet. However, I don’t think many would choose to use the same bathroom with people who willingly eat the beans and “pizza” from the cafeteria. There is an extra stall, which is a plus, but the sinks are atrocious. Whether it’s mold or smelly tissues filled with God knows what, I want nothing to do with those sinks. 4/10.

The Sixth Floor Boys’ Bathroom:

I’ve never had a single good experience with this bathroom ever since the first day of school last year when I found an unflushed toilet bowl of feces inside of a stall. But this year, it’s just a really bad floor. Tissues are everywhere, the floor is always wet, and the shoe prints do not help at all. But this isn’t all that surprising considering that a large part of the bathroom’s users arrive from the sophomore bar—which, in all honesty, may possess more garbage, disease, and bacteria than any of these bathrooms combined. A low 5/10 bathroom.

The Seventh Floor Boys’ Bathroom:

Despite the biology enrollment of freshmen using this bathroom, none seem to know how to perform the basic process of human expulsion without dirtying the place up. 4/10.

The Eighth Floor Boys’ Bathroom:

This bathroom is just sad. Maybe it’s because the floor is home to the physics department, but I have never seen a single happy person enter or exit this bathroom. But it doesn’t smell bad, is usually stocked, and has no remarkably dirty floor. I might even say it’s a good bathroom. Maybe the juniors know something I don’t—or maybe the juniors are depressed and constipated. A 7/10 rating; I’m suspicious.

The Ninth Floor Boys’ Bathroom:

If you were to ask me last year, I wouldn’t touch this bathroom again. If I had an obnoxious stomach ache and this was the only bathroom available, I would’ve carved my stomach open and released the intestines from my body. But this year, it isn’t as bad as it once was. There are two soap dispensers, which is good, but only one of them actually contains soap. The other is kind of useless. There are also paper towels, which is another rarity. A higher-end 7/10 rating.

The 10th Floor Boys’ Bathroom:

This is what I imagine the afterlife to be like as a Stuyvesant student. If I ever die on a desk during a chemistry or French test this year, I don’t want them to bury me. I want them to place me in the 10th floor bathroom. This bathroom is my home away from home. The only downside is the fact that it is on the 10th floor, but that is a small sacrifice for such a gift from the angels. 10/10. Best bathroom. I would kiss it on its lips if I could.

Glad to end it on the very best option, but in all honesty, I would advise not to use Stuyvesant bathrooms and instead just wait until you get home.*

*The Spectator is not responsible for any health complications that may arise as a result