Rachael Shearer-
There’s nothing better than nipping to your favourite shop, picking up a delish lunch, a spring in your step, the day has been on your side, and you swoop into the arts block – maybe with mates, maybe alone, you’re happy either way – ecstatic that you’ve found an empty couch – a rare occasion, we all know – unwrap your dream meal, open your mouth to take the first bite and then foolishly lift your eyes.
Over the soft white bread, filled with all the delights a mouth could behold, you see them. She’s slightly overweight, possibly hasn’t accomplished the art of make-up or general self-preservation and he’s remarkably, if somewhat frighteningly thin, pasty, a bit sweaty and on the arse end of a much delayed puberty.
They tentatively stroke each other’s forearms having dangerously worn t-shirts in the middle of winter. His right hand swishes like dead fishes up and down her arm in a manner that can only serve to null arousal while his left dances over her legs like a cripple on hot coals. She safely sticks with both hands clasped rigidly around his neck, just like she saw in “The Notebook”.
While both necks look fit to snap as they desperately rearrange their heads to accommodate their untrained mouths, each trying to catch their own dribble before it spills onto their laps, their feet twitch as each ravenous gulp of lip, tongue, who knows, topples their entire bodies from side to side.
The sandwich, ruined, drops from your hands at the shock of what porn might look like if they hired nervous virgins. As his hand accidentally slips between her legs and he lets out a grunt of the surprise feeling in his pants, you vomit on your lunch / self and walk away knowing that you have experience the infamous “Arts Block Couples” who should, quite frankly, be taken outside, lined up and aggressively hosed down.
The recent Valentine’s Day shenanigans merely served to highlight people’s lack of shame when it comes to these public displays of affection / horror. Have you no home to go to? Surely one of you has moved out. Or, hey, it’s the middle of the day, maybe your parents are at work. Either way, why on earth would you want to demonstrate your lack of sex-appeal while attempting to sex each other up? It’s incredibly embarrassing for everyone involved and the fact that you are making other people want to violently duff should be a colossal red flag that you’re doing something or probably everything wrong.
The couches are generally a hotspot for this shameless display of discovering each other’s nooks and crannies, but couples can also be spotted consuming each other’s faces at other private arenas such as the library – primarily doorways, desks and in between bookshelves. Yes, we can still see you. Especially the door from the arts block to the library – explain that one please?
It also used to be a case of the time of day. Evening, after a long hard day of study, primarily on the black couches upstairs, they can be spotted. Sharing sweet nothings about the chapter they particularly enjoyed that day or the tutor that just gave them so much work and other such interesting thoughts leads to such inexplicable nerd arousal that the mere sharing of a conversation based on academia and education sends their blood boiling in all the right (wrong?) places until they explode into a frenzy of awkward, head-bumping, accidental crotch-touching havoc.
You might find yourself pottering around after a day of equal academic accomplishment only to be greeted by what can only be equated to catching your mum and dad at it in the living room. You freeze. If you keep walking, they’ll see you – if they already haven’t. If you turn away, you’ll make them feel bad for grossing you out to the point that you had to evacuate the premises. In future, turn and run. The message must be delivered.
Of course, it’s not always affection that these darling couples display in the hub of Arts kids. If you’re lucky, you’ll catch them screaming at each other, generally around the stairs, until they storm off in different directions. Note how much quicker the one going down the stairs escapes. Terribly embarrassing. Even more offensive is a smoking area argument – if it’s past 6, and one tries to storm in to the Arts Block and that door is locked… Morto. This little gem works both ways though.
Attempting to storm out of the Arts Block and failing is considerably worse and generally results in the stormer bee-lining for the bathroom. This volcanic eruption of private emotion in a public arena is possibly more baffling than the score-fest on the couches. Don’t hang up your dirty laundry in front of your mates, or anyone for that matter. Firstly, no one gives a shit. Secondly, it’s a terrible inconvenience for those caught in the cross fire of “FUCK YOU” as it tests out the acoustics. While we have probably (definitely?) all engaged in at least one of the above couple faux-pas, it still doesn’t excuse the ongoing battlefield of love or lust or just idiocy that goes on inside. Keep it to yourselves thank you. It only makes the single ones bitter and the settled ones mock. Despite the fact that this plea is completely futile, I hope it will at least stop you slobbering monsters from spoiling lunch. Cheers.
