Last week I was feeling down on myself after a rough midterm when words of encouragement seemingly fell from the sky and into my ears.

‘Keep it up!’ they told me enthusiastically. ‘You’re soooo good.’

A few steps later, the words continued: ‘You’re the best,’ the divine voice declared in ecstatic high-pitched tones. ‘Keep going, Dave.’

‘Actually, it’s Danny,’ I told the divine voice.

‘I’m almost there!’ the voice replied.

‘Almost where?’ I shot back.

‘You’re my daddy.’

That’s when I knew something was up. I pressed my ear against the wall to my left, and sure enough, I heard the unmistakable sound of two college kids going at it like a Discovery Channel special.

Actually, this is nothing new. Since November, my hallway has become the personal ‘foreplayground’ for what may be the loudest couple on earth. At any time after 9 a.m., anyone walking to my room is as likely to hear ‘Oh…My…God…Yes…’ as they are to hear the music I blast from my computer.

And you know what? I’m fine with it. Sure, it took some getting used to at first – last week I learned the hard way that just because someone yells ‘I’m coming’ after you knock doesn’t mean they’re answering the door – but, hey, at least someone’s having a good time.

Even so, certain lines are never meant to be crossed and damned if that didn’t happen yesterday.

A normal Tuesday night, I had just finished my homework and was ready to shower and go to bed. Thinking I was all alone, I cranked up the hot water and started belting out Journey’s Greatest Hits. After rinsing off, I stepped out of the shower and put on my robe.

‘You got it backwards,’ said a voice to my left. ‘She’s a small-town girl, and he’s a city boy.’

Startled, I turned to see my neighbor’s girlfriend standing at the sink. Apparently, not only had she been there the whole time, but she heard every word of my tone-deaf karaoke session and was ready to critique it.

I was mortified.

For one thing, what the hell was a girl doing in the guys’ bathroom? For another, how long had she been there? And finally, why in the world was she holding a waterproof camera? I needed someone to blame immediately.

The obvious choice was the girl. Sure, the guys’ bathroom is more convenient, but the last guy who stepped into the girls’ bathroom for convenience reasons left immediately with a full bladder and a black eye, so what makes her special enough to use our toilets? (I’ll assume for now she’s avoiding the urinal.)

The next choice was the boyfriend. Of all the things to share with his girlfriend, why would he choose a bathroom? I’m no expert on relationships, but I know enough to make sure that when my girlfriend and I are together, there aren’t any strangers pooping within a 10-foot radius.

Then again, this whole thing could be my fault. The fact is that when I agreed to live in a dorm, I signed away some of my privacy. Sure, it would be nice to sing my shower songs in private, but maybe with enough practice in front of an audience I’ll finally gain the courage to serenade my Spanish TA with some Enrique Iglesias.

Either way, it’s all about encouragement. So keep it up, Dave.

Danny Fersh is a freshman broadcast journalism major. He’s just a small-town girl on a midnight train going anywhere. His column appears every Wednesday. He can be reached at dafersh@syr.edu.