Last week, I went to my basement to pick up my laundry, and two people were unabashedly making out in front of my dryer. At first I attempted to be polite by clearing my throat, but after I received no response I was forced to speak. I said "excuse me," and the woman looked at me and nervously smiled as they parted. I don't know why she smiled at me--I wasn't the one kissing her. All I wanted was my laundry, but I instead fell victim to an epidemic which plagues Harvard: public displays of affection (PDA).

What is wrong with this school? Never has PDA affected such a large sober population. I would expect this type of behavior at a small beach-front California community college, but at the school of John Adams and Al Gore? I attended a public high school in Miami, and I thought that PDA was bad there, but at least it was drug-induced. Regardless of what my friends tell me, I don't think that Chem 10 is as harmful to the psyche as major narcotics. Who walks into a laundry room and thinks, "Wow, great place to make out!"? Well, in all fairness, laundry rooms make more sense to me than having sex in the stacks of Widener, which I understand is a favorite pastime among students. If I ever see two people going at it when I am trying to find a book on 17th-century German folk dancing, I will have no qualms about picking up the nearest blue light centrex phone and calling the campus police. Fine, I'm a dork. I use the library for educational purposes and the laundry room for washing my clothes. One of the reasons I came to Harvard was for the fornication-free stacks and dryers that President Rudenstine promised me in the brochure.

"Unlike our Ivy League competitors, we at Harvard are proud to offer students a wide variety of places to which they can go that are completely free of fornication, like Widener Library and the laundry room in the Wigglesworth basement."

The most offensive part of the laundry room lovers' display was that they didn't learn their lesson. As I collected my clothes and turned around to go upstairs, they were embracing each other behind me, getting ready to go at it again. There are five other rooms in the Wigglesworth basement, all awaiting refurbishing and thus empty. These options, of course, disregard what should be the obvious choice for them, going to one of their rooms. I don't understand why they didn't. If they both have roommates, we all know the towel on the door trick. It's cheesy but it's worth it, because going behind closed doors would be more comfortable for them and me.

Is the problem that Harvard students feel insecure about their popularity and are thus compelled to prove their sexuality to all who care to see or pick up their laundry at an inopportune time? Maybe the people shoving free condoms in our faces at every street corner exacerbate the feeling. If insecurity is the problem, then I'll solve it for you. You're cool. No really, I'm being completely and utterly sincere. It was the first thing that popped into my head when I saw you reading my article. Biochemistry is a very cool major, I promise. So next time, why don't you just tell me about your experience. Make a poster, a public announcement, write it on the side of a blimp--just keep sex the private, indoor sport that it was intended to be.