Eugene Coyle wrote:
As Doug noted,
the spending on amenities is up, to make the big spenders feel
they are getting a first class experience.
http://www.columbiaspectator.com/2010/03/01/you-read-hundreds-mice-feast-mcbain
Monday 1 March 2010 10:30pm EST.
As you read this, hundreds of mice feast in McBain
by Mark Hay
Last year, members of Columbia University’s Urban Landscape Lab
aided in the launch of an interactive exhibit, known as Safari 7,
exploring the interaction of architecture and natural ecosystems
along the number 7 subway line. I mention this because each time I
recall the exhibit or happen to travel on the 7, I remember the
life teeming along that line. The tenacity of wildlife in this
city never ceases to amaze me. For God’s sake, Queens has urban
chickens. Trite though it may be, I sometimes stop while strolling
the campus at night, to catch the faint twitch of life in the
bushes. But it is only sometimes that I stop to wax poetically
over the success of life springing from the concrete. And there is
more than occasional life—less than beautiful life—lurking on
campus. Although, from the way the University treats it, you would
never know.
Unfortunately, some of the sturdiest creatures in an urban
environment happen to be some of the most disgusting. These
critters—mice, rats, cockroaches, pigeons, bedbugs—also happen to
have the easiest access to our dorm rooms. Proud as I may be of
the ability of a mouse to sneak into my building, I am never glad
to find one scurrying over my foot in the middle of the night in
McBain. To a certain extent, one must accept such things when
living in New York, but, disturbed as I have been of late by
recurrent outbreaks of mice and other critters in McBain, I have
gotten to thinking about vermin at Columbia. As a result, I have
come to the following conclusion: through some odd strain of luck,
Columbia has become an ideal breeding ground for critters.
Inaccessible balconies and recessed or barred-off windows provide
the perfect places for pigeons to build nests, often small enough
to avoid detection until the birth of the young ones. This in
turn, I believe, makes isolated and arboreal Columbia a favorite
buffet for local falcons. With great regularity, the raptors catch
smaller critters and tear them to shreds, leaving nice bits of
entrails among the discarded cans of sugar water and bits of John
Jay food along College Walk and other footpaths. “Good” food in
ample supply brings out the rats and mice, who make a comfortable
home for themselves in bushes and the tiny cracks of aging
buildings spread across campus (and there is always a building in
serious need of repair). It doesn’t take much for them to become
permanent dorm residents—a hole the size of a quarter is enough
space for a one-pound rat to squeeze through and set up shop. And
not many will argue that many dorm rooms provide the perfect
cramped, dirty spaces, littered with crumbs and dirty dishes, for
vermin to live happily.
Once the critters are lodged in here, we have great trouble
getting rid of them. Checking through old stories and lore, I have
learned that the mouse infestation of McBain has been a fairly
persistent problem for almost a decade now. Previous tactics for
catching such pests have centered on bait and traps, but this has
proven so ineffective that the University has adopted new
policies, focusing on preventative measures like quick repairs to
block up breeding grounds and dorm openings. For now, the mousy
horde persists in McBain and elsewhere—and that’s not even to
speak of the bedbugs.
The bedbug threat at Columbia is prodigious if not above the
normal rate. Considering one recorded and one anecdotal story, it
seems that Columbia has often avoided direct confrontation with
bedbugs, favoring prolonged detection—as extermination requires
the removal of all materials from a student’s room, temporary
relocation for residents, and a substantial amount of time,
energy, and money. By the time exterminators arrive, bedbugs have
often already had the time to travel via carpets, furniture,
clothes, or any of many other mediums, to rooms up and down the
hallway. And, as the University has repeatedly denied hallway
fumigation in the past, the pest problem persists. By way of
personal anecdote, a friend grew so frustrated with the process
last year that she gave up, and just began sleeping with socks on
her hands to avoid bites.
So, we find ourselves in a vital breeding ground for local creepy
crawlies. In part it is due to geographic destiny, in part to our
own mess and ignorance, but in part to the University’s failure to
respond quickly and decisively or to assist in educating students
about pest control. I recognize that large changes like total
building overhauls or fumigations are too horrid a logistical
nightmare to fathom. I also recognize, however, that students
often go far too long before recognizing that their itch is a bug
bite, or that the movement in the corner of their eye a mouse.
Friends and administrators, one cannot imagine the ingenuity, but
also the chaos and ineptitude, when unfamiliar and undeserving
victims try to take a rodent problem into their own hands. It
would work wonders, I believe, if orientation could just include a
short lesson on preventing and handling infestations. But I also
know that no college wants “Pest Control 101” on record. Perhaps
for now, it is best just to learn to cohabit with these critters.
I have named my mouse Mortimer.
Mark Hay is a Columbia College sophomore. Unusual, Unseemly, or
Unnoticed runs alternate Tuesdays.
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