Little pleasures

Man, stuff sucks. Here you are at university when all you want to do is slap on your clubbing clothes and party. To make things worse, you have a couple midterms in the next two weeks, and a silly essay due tomorrow that you haven’t even started thinking about. It’s also about to be February, literally the worst month of the entire year, just like the other eleven months. Your shoes are soaked. Your boyfriend/girlfriend is thinking of dumping you; you just haven’t figured it out yet.

I don’t want to sound like a benevolent uncle, or some didactic happiness fairy. Your life actually does suck. But I’d like to encourage you to think of the small ways in which it isn’t insufferable. Here are the small pleasures you can still get from UTSC.

The shawarmas in the H-wing Market Place are surprisingly authentic and are undeniably delicious. I’ve had them for lunch for several days straight, and I still find myself craving them at odd hours.

The sinks in the bathrooms just outside the windy tunnel are very cool; very space-agey. It feels like you’re washing your hands in a pig trough. No really, it’s better than it sounds

The exhibits in the Doris McCarthy gallery are usually very nice. You can just waltz right in and look at pretty things, and the curators don’t even bite.

Lecture rooms in the newer buildings, like MW, have outlets on every table. Right there, waiting for you to use it. It’s so convenient! You can go on Facebook the whole lecture without having to worry about your battery.

The library is now a place where you can actually study. Seriously, try it. It’s a revelation. You might find yourself being able to read in a library.

The little counter on the water refill stations telling you how many plastic bottles were saved, especially when it goes really high because you weren’t paying attention to how full your bottle was and half the water goes down the drain.

The IC building during sunset, a somehow life-reaffirming sight.

Your favourite cute waiter at Rex’s Den.

Watching Dr Phil while on the treadmill in the Athletic Centre, which reinforces your sense of smug superiority because you’re exercising and changing your life instead of being overweight and crying about how your daughter is a prostitute.

Being able to tell your siblings or your friends, “Aha, because of what I learned in my behaviour analysis class, I know you’re actually an idiot!” This, I feel, is what the university experience is all about.