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Vandalism in the Female Toilets of USP

Daniele Crema*
Nathalia Horvath**
Patricia de Aquino Prudente***

Abstract: The present short-stories are the result of a Public Media project conducted in
the last semester of 2008 for the discipline Comunicação Escrita IV. The main purpose was
to lead female students, professors and employees of USP to reflect upon the issue of
vandalism in the university’s toilets. Aiming to problematize the topic in an unbiased and
non-discriminative manner, opinions for and against vandalism were collected and several
procedures were adopted: photography, interviews, surveys and discussions at orkut and
blogs. Through fiction, it was possible to express divergent points of view that may have
come to match the students’ attitudes and make them identify with the character(s) of the
narrative. Thus, the last step of the work was to have the short-story posted on each of the
cabinets’ doors of the female toilets. Nevertheless, there was the need to write the story in
Portuguese, partly because it was rather long and also due to the fact that the target public
did not consist only of students of the English area.
Keywords: vandalism in female toilets, indifference, USP, toilet cleaners.

Resumo: Os presentes contos são resultado de um projeto de Mídia Pública realizado no


último semestre de 2008 para a disciplina de Comunicação Escrita IV. O principal
objetivo era levar alunas, professoras e funcionárias da USP a refletir sobre o problema do
vandalismo nos banheiros da universidade. Visando problematizar o assunto de forma
imparcial e não-discriminatória, opiniões a favor e contra o vandalismo foram coletadas e
diversos procedimentos foram adotados: fotografias, entrevistas, pesquisas e discussões no
orkut e em blogs. Por meio da ficção, foi possível expressar divergentes pontos de vista que
vieram a concorrer para as atitudes das alunas e fazer com que estas se identificassem
com a(s) personagem (ns) da narrativa. Logo, o último passo do trabalho foi a postagem
dos contos nas portas de cada cabine dos banheiros femininos. Entretanto, fez-se
necessário escrever a história em português, em parte porque estava um tanto longa e
também pelo fato de o público alvo não consistir unicamente de estudantes da área de
inglês.
Palavras-chave: vandalismo em banheiros femininos, indiferença, USP, limpadoras de
banheiro.

Short story - English version

*
Undergraduate student at the University of São Paulo.
**
Undergraduate student at the University of São Paulo.
***
Undergraduate student at the University of São Paulo.
WC – Who Cares?
It’s 6:30 in the morning. She gets into the female toilet for the first time. It’s tidy
although she knows it’s not gonna last long. In a short time everything is gonna be all
messed up. She puts the bucket in her hand on the floor, filled with toilet paper, garbage
bags and soap. She thinks about the crowded bus she had to take to get there on time. Rich
people don’t know that buses in the suburbs are crowded this time. At least, she didn’t have
to stay long in the bus. She lives nearby. She gets the plastic bags, separates one by one and
places them in the trash can. Her son was still sleeping when she left. She can barely see
him every day. She wakes up early and comes back home late. She does her best to bring
him up. He definitely won’t have this job! She opens the toilet paper dispenser. Puts in the
whole roll of virgin toilet paper. How many trees wouldn’t have died to make that? She
leaves the toilet cubicles. Her job is done. She moves towards the sink, looks at herself in
the brand new mirror. She is a woman but without the right to be vain. Fastened hair, dark
rings under the eyes, dry hands, due to the chemical products she uses for cleaning. What
can she do? She puts the soap in the dispenser and leaves.
Another woman comes in: a young lady, someone under no suspicion. She knocks
the door with her foot leaving a mark there. Her hands are packed up. No room to use the
handle. She gets in. Another knock allows her into the toilet cabinet. Another mark. She
drops all her stuff on the floor. She sits on the toilet seat. She is tired. The weekend was
tiresome. Parties on both days. Food. Drinks. Friends. Guys. Drinks. Friends. Dance. Guy.
Car. Sex. She loves her over-18 life. She is so independent! Now that she is alone in this
private moment she can think of everything she did. Good time to relax. Nobody knows
about her crazy life. No one is looking. No eye is staring. No disapproval. She is free. She
feels like saying something. She feels like screaming. But she is still tired for that. She
grabs a bunch of paper. Much more than she needed. She does her job. She grabs another
bunch. This time it was a little bit harder. She pulls. She pulls. She pulls again. The paper
doesn’t come out. Why can’t everything happen her way? Why don’t things cooperate with
her? She hits the toilet dispenser. It doesn’t help. She hits it again, harder. It opens. Phew!
Finally, she can get the paper she needed. Actually, more than that. She has to contort to
find a way to clean herself. She grabs the whole roll of toilet paper. Some strips fall and
scatter on the floor and over the seat. She uses the last bunch to finish her cleaning job. She
throws the remainder in the toilet bowl. That was it. This is what happens to things that
come on her way. She was so happy! She was tired too. Why can’t she relax? Can’t she
have a moment of peace? She tries to flush. It doesn’t go. She closes the lid. Problem
solved! She is fine. What can she do? She thinks about her weekend. She takes a deep
breath. Oh my God, how crazy that was! Who would know it? She opens her purse and
finds a pen. Nobody would know it. She writes the name of the guy she went out with. A
guy? She smiles ironically and writes one part of the song she listened to in the party before
everything happened. She leaves the cubicle. Outside, she meets someone from the same
class. She greets her. They say something about a test. That professor was a pain in the ass!
He scheduled the test on a short notice! Nobody knows the subject. He speaks too quietly.
She washes her hands, fixes her hair. She is pretty. Neat. Who would know about her? They
say goodbye. She leaves the toilet.
Her colleague puts her notebooks on the sink. She thinks about the girl who had just
left. She doesn’t understand why she says bad things about professors. She doesn’t attend
classes! She is always tired. Especially on Mondays. She always goes to parties. She knows
all the people from the beer parties. She knows the people from CAELL. Whatever! She
had better study this time. She goes to one cubicle. She gets in. What a terrible smell! She
opens the toilet lid. She sees the mess. She feels disgusted, like throwing up. Why do
people do this kind of things? It’s so disgusting! Weren’t these people instructed by their
parents? Don’t these people think that somebody will clean this toilet? That somebody will
use it afterwards? She looks at the door to open it and leave. She sees the name of a guy
from university and sexy lyrics under it. She feels curious. Shortly after, ashamed. She
wishes she would have the courage to write such kind of things. No, she doesn’t. She could,
but why would she? There is no point. She can handle her feelings. She doesn’t need that.
She has friends. She doesn’t know why she reads it. She leaves this cubicle. She goes to
another one. Far from the previous one. She gets in and closes the door. This one is clean.
Yet there isn’t a seat to seat on. Somebody has already destroyed it. Why do people do that?
She covers the toilet with paper and sits. She looks at the door. There is a whole
conversation about sex written on it. Some people inviting the others to go out. Some others
defending lesbianism. Few defending virginity. Why do people care so much about these
issues? They are just one part of life. Can’t they keep these ideas for themselves? On the
one side: lesbians. On the other: virgins. All repressed groups. Do they write these things
because they don’t have other means of expressing themselves? Maybe. She doesn’t want
to read about that. She feels invaded. She wishes she had the right not to read that. Do the
people who write think about this, about the people who don’t want to read but are obliged
to? Would the same kind of people who did that terrible mess in the other cubicle be the
same ones who write on the doors? She doesn’t know. She cleans herself. She is in her
period. She takes longer to do the right job. No wonder she is always late. It always takes
longer to do the right thing! She throws everything in the can. She flushes. She looks at her
toilet cabinet - neat. She is happy. She did her part. She looks at the door again. Why did
she care so much about these toilet things now? Maybe it is her period. She leaves the
cubicle. She goes to the sink. She presses the soap dispenser. The soap comes out.
Nevertheless, the soap dispenser handle gets stuck. The soap continues falling. It falls on
the sink. She doesn’t see a problem. It’s all soap! She washes her hand. She looks at the
paper towel dispenser. It says only two towels are enough. She doesn’t read that. She grabs
as much as her hands feel like and uses them. On the way to throw them in the can, one or
two towels detach from the bunch and fall. One falls on the floor and another one in the
sink. She is late. It takes a long time to do the right thing. She doesn’t get them. She leaves
the toilet.
The cleaner comes in again. Break time is almost over. Now she has a lot of work to
do. She grabs her bucket with the broom and the cloth. She enters one cubicle. The smell is
terrible. She opens the lid and sees the roll of toilet paper in the toilet bowl. It is almost all
destroyed. Not enough to be flushed together with the rest. Not good enough to be caught
and thrown in the can. She puts her hands in the bowl. She closes her eye. She can’t help
imagining it as she feels the dirty liquid outside her mitts. She holds the paper. She has to
be fast otherwise it will fall on something else. Maybe on her! She thinks about her lunch
time, which is upon. She feels nauseous. It’s another day she won’t eat again. How can she?
After looking at what she had just looked at. A part of the paper dismantles and falls. She
wasn’t fast enough. The dirty water splashed on her forearm. She wants to run away. She
feels the terrible smell even stronger now. She takes her hand out of the water holding the
part of the paper she could get. She puts it in the bag she was carrying. She feels hatred.
She grieves. They do these things on purpose! It could only be! Students. Employees.
Professors. All against her! She thinks. Ahh, how badly she wanted them to be on her shoes
for just one day! To know how she suffers to clean the dirty job they do! They don’t even
know how to clean what they mess! Dependent people! She hates them. She flushes hard,
so hard as if she was punching the flush. She leaves the cubicle fast and goes to the sink.
Two girls are on her way to the sink. One is brushing her hair. The hair is falling on the sink
drain, a lot of it. The girl doesn’t care. She feels the dirty water in her arm as it dries. She
gets desperate. The other girl is fixing her hair, talking to another friend. She gives her a
dirty look. She says to her: ‘Don’t look at me this way, this is my toilet! I can stay here and
do whatever I want! Go to yours!’ She leaves the toilet outraged. The dirt has dried on her.
She runs fast, as fast as she can. She reaches her place at the university. She takes the mitts
off her hands and washes them. She not only washes them. She scraped them. She rubs
them. She does that for some minutes. A tear-drop falls from her eye. She sips it. She can’t
cry. She can’t express her feelings. At least if she were a university student she could write
on the doors or on the walls. She could have the right of free expression. Break everything
and afterwards complain about the cleaning people. But she can’t. She doesn’t have a voice.
She has to hold her cry. She needs this job. She can barely afford the slum house she lives
in. She has a son. She smiles. For her son! For the son she almost never sees, she can stand
that. She washes her hands with alcohol again and again. She is feeling better. She avoids
thinking. It hurts. It’s better to accept it. Life is like this. What can she do? She remembers
she left the toilet so fast that she left her stuff there. She also needs to take more paper to
replace the one in that toilet cubicle. She decides to go back there.
A professor comes in. Break time is over. She is late. She had just remembered to
use the toilet, just as she was passing by. She has to go fast. She bumps the door in. It hits
the wall. There is a loud bang. The door gets damaged. They’ll have to replace it, she
thinks. It’s ok, it’s public money. There is enough for that. Besides, they have to account for
the budget they receive. This is helping them! She gets in a toilet cubicle. She closes the
door and bends over the toilet seat. She does her job. As soon as she finishes it, she puts her
hand in the toilet paper dispenser. She doesn’t find the paper. How could that be? She looks
up to see if it’s on the wall that divides the cubicles. She looks down to see if it is on the
floor. Nothing. She feels enraged. She hates dirtiness. She hates untidiness. She shakes her
body. She still feels wet. She shakes again. Why didn’t she use the staff’s toilet? She puts
on her clothes. She feels annoyed by the sensation. She is disgusted. She doesn’t want to
touch the flush. She feels everything is dirty in that toilet, full of bacteria. She raises her
right foot and presses the flush. It doesn’t go. She presses it with her foot again, harder. It
still doesn’t go. It’s not a good position. She leaves the print of her shoe on the wall. She
gives up. Well done! The cleaner will have another job to do when she comes in, besides
feeding the dispenser with paper. She deserves it for her bad job! She looks at the door
before she leaves. There are some things written on it, basically about sex. There is the
name of a boy and sexy lyrics together with it. She knows him. Teenagers! They think the
toilet is their diaries. They want to express themselves. No, they don’t. They have chances
for that in the university. Do they? They want to exist! They think they are at home and
they can do whatever they want to. It is public, isn’t it? What can she do? They must do
these things at home too. They don’t think about the others! Does she? She leaves the toilet,
washes her hands, smiles to a student that comes in and goes to her class.
The cleaner arrives. The toilet is empty. She is very sad. She tears the plastic that
wraps the rolls of toilet paper. She grabs one roll violently. She goes to the toilet cubicle she
got dirty before. The dispenser is open. She puts the roll in. She closes it. In one minute she
went out of the toilet to wash her hands because students wouldn’t let her do it in here, a
professor went to the building janitor and complained about her. She is running back to the
toilet, worried exactly with the paper she knew she had to replace when he stopped her and
told her she wasn’t doing a good job. She had to be more efficient. She had to treat the
employees well. They are powerful. She couldn’t make one mistake. She said nothing to the
janitor. He didn’t know why she didn’t replace the toilet paper. He didn’t know she had put
her hands in the middle of shit to clean the dirt other people had made. He didn’t know she
had got the dirt herself. He didn’t know anything. But he was right. She had to please the
employees. She had to please the students. She had to please everybody. She had to clean
their dirt, their mess, their worst bullshit on the walls and doors. She had to serve them in
their exercise of freedom. Even though, she also had the same right. Did she? Who would
please her? She thought about God. She said to herself one day there would be justice. One
day they will know. God will give them the best answer. She left that cubicle. She got her
bucket filled with water. She entered that cubicle again. Someone had left a mark on the
wall. She got her sponge and started cleaning it. She scrubbed, scraped, longing for the
hours to go by, and for that day to finish.

Short story – Portuguese version

Direitos Privados
6:30h da manhã. O banheiro ainda está limpo. Dentro de um balde, papel higiênico,
sacos de lixo, sabão. Ela pega os sacos e separa um por um para colocá-los nos cestos
enquanto seus pensamentos disparam. O ônibus lotado, o filho. Seu filho? Ainda dormia! E
só de pensar que o veria apenas à noite. Ela faz o melhor para criá-lo. Ele não terá esse
emprego com certeza! Ela abre o porta-papel e coloca um rolo novo no local. Quantas
mortes foram necessárias pra fazer esse papel? Alguém tem que se sacrificar. Será que só as
árvores? Ela caminha em direção à pia. Cabelo preso, olheiras, mãos rachadas. Mulher sim,
porém sem direitos de ser vaidosa. O que ela poderia fazer? Ela sai do banheiro.
Uma jovem entra com um chute na porta. A marca ficou. O que ela poderia fazer?
As mãos estão ocupadas. Ela joga suas coisas no chão e senta na privada. É só segunda e
ela já está cansada. O fim de semana foi cheio. Festas nos dois dias. Comida. Bebidas.
Amigos. Caras. Bebidas. Amigos. Dança. Um cara. Carro. Sexo. Ela adora sua vida
independente! É um bom momento para relaxar. Ninguém sabe nada sobre ela. Ninguém
está olhando. Ela é livre! Ela puxa o papel. Ele entala. Ela puxa, puxa, puxa, soca. O porta-
papel se abre. Que raiva! Ela olha pro rolo e joga tudo na privada. A descarga deve dar
conta. Não deu. A tampa do vaso dá! O que ela poderia fazer? Ela se lembra do fim de
semana. Que loucura! Quem iria saber? Ela pega a caneta e escreve o nome de um cara com
quem saiu. Um cara? Do lado de fora, ela encontra alguém da mesma sala. Elas se
cumprimentam, se olham no espelho, falam tchau. Ela sai.
A colega coloca os cadernos na pia e se dirige ao cubículo. Que cheiro horrível! Ela
abre a tampa. Sente nojo. Por que as pessoas fazem esse tipo de coisa? Não têm educação?
Antes de sair ela olha para a porta. Há um nome de um cara conhecido na faculdade e uma
letra sexy de música embaixo. Ela fica curiosa. Depois, com vergonha. Ela não sabe por
que está lendo essas coisas. Ela muda de cubículo. Apesar de limpo, não tem assento. Na
porta, convites, lesbianismo, virgindade. Por que as pessoas escrevem tanto sobre sexo nas
paredes? Porque não têm outro meio de expressão? Talvez. Ela não queria ler essas coisas.
Será que o direito dela também pode ser respeitado? Ela aperta a saboneteira. Emperrada.
Ela pega o sabão. O resto fica pingando continuamente na pia. Mas que problema há nisso?
É só sabão. Um bolo de papel sai acidentalmente em suas mãos. Alguns caem sobre a pia
molhada e no chão. Ela está atrasada. O que poderia fazer? Fazer a coisa certa leva tempo!
Ela sai.
A faxineira entra de novo. Fim do intervalo. Agora há muito o que fazer. Dentro do
vaso um rolo de papel higiênico inteiro! Ela fecha os olhos e lentamente mergulha a mão no
vaso. Mais um dia sem almoçar. Uma parte do papel desmancha, cai e espirra uma água
suja em seu braço. Que nojo! Só pode ser de propósito! Ah...como ela queria que as outras
trocassem de lugar com ela pelo menos uma vez! Atordoada, ela sai. Cabelos na pia,
pegadas de lama, ofensas. Escrever nas paredes, nas portas? Ela não pode. Voz? Ela não
tem. Uma lágrima cai. Ela engole. Ela precisa do emprego. Por seu filho! Só por ele! O que
ela pode fazer? Ela volta. Ela precisa repor aquele papel higiênico.
Atrasada, uma professora entra no banheiro. O empurrão faz com que a porta bata
na parede. Quebrou. Eles vão repor mesmo. Não tem problema. É dinheiro público! Ao
terminar o que tinha que fazer, ela procura o papel de cima a baixo. Não encontra. Que
raiva! Ela detesta sujeira. Ela não quer mais tocar em nada naquele banheiro. Descarga com
o pé? É, não funciona. De novo? Só consegue deixar a marca do pé. O que ela poderia
fazer? Bem feito. Mais uma coisa para essa faxineira limpar. Quem sabe não aprende a
fazer seu serviço direito! Do lado de fora encontra uma aluna. Sorri. Vai embora.
Triste, ela volta. O estrondo causado ao rasgar a embalagem de papel higiênico ecoa
violentamente naquele silêncio quase absoluto. Raiva. Por que foi que esqueceu de colocar
o papel higiênico ? A reclamação da professora era só mais uma das muitas que já levara e
que levaria do zelador. É sua obrigação agradar professores, funcionários, alunos. É seu
dever limpar a sujeira, a bagunça, os escritos nas portas. Esse era o seu lugar na sociedade!
O banheiro? Afinal, alguém tem que fazer essas coisas, não é? Alguém tem que se
sacrificar. O que ela poderia fazer? Ela deveria servi-las nos seus direitos de liberdade. Mal
sabendo elas que o maior ato de liberdade é agir sem prejudicar o outro. Ela pensou em
Deus ao esfregar a marca de pé na parede. Ah, um dia haverá justiça! Há muito pra ser
limpo ainda. E esfrega, esfrega e torce. Torce para que as horas passem e o dia termine.

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