A little bit of the real world invades my ivory tower
So I went into work today and noticed some graffiti in the men's room.
I HATE QUEERZ
Fortunately, in the third drawer of my filing cabinet I keep, along with my "viva trousers" (proper trousers that I only ever wear when I am doing a PhD viva), are various cleaning products - because, frankly, the cleaners don't always do the best job in the world and sometimes need a little bit of help. So I got out my Cif and a cloth and removed the offending words.
But it's a bit depressing that you have to read such things, especially in a so-called "place of higher learning". If that stuff happens in universities, then I dread to think what it must be like in the real world, away from my ivory tower on a hill. I guess, for the millionth time I thank my lucky stars that I had a mother who read me Ladybird books every night when I was very young, instilling a love of reading in me from an early age, which meant I ended up getting a job where I pretty much get shielded from most of the horrors of everyday life.
There's something very cowardly about that sort of graffiti though. At least the BNP or Fred Phelps or whoever come out and own up to their homophobia. With graffiti, there's no comeback. I always make a point of scrubbing it out, whenever I see it - really, I don't think that anyone else should have to read their dreary opinions. And I'm not even going to comment on that "Z". Except - it's not clever.