A Room with a View

Yesterday I finally moved into my dorm room. The building is a little out of the way of the old city, which is where everything is happenin', but it is in a good neighborhood and right across the street from the grocery store. And the walk to the old city is about 30 minutes, so whatever. Anyway, to officially move in, I had to set up a time for the Hausmeister (the manager of the dorm) to show me around, tell me the rules, etc. So I roll in looking for him, and, of course, he's not in his office. This is a man who is only available by phone for 30 minutes a day, 3 times a week. I had called him and set my time for 10:30 am on monday, and, go figure, he's not here. I wait outside his office until, finally, a dude that looks like he's on his way to a costume party walks up and tells me he is the Hausmeister (his name is Herr Krieger). Seriously, Krieger looks like a roadie for Deep Purple; he's overweight and pale with long blonde hair in a pony tail falling halfway down his back. He's wearing a hoodie advertising a tattoo parlor, featuring a detailed image of a snake crawling out the eye of a human skull on the front and a bleeding heart on the back. This is the man who will remind me to turn my stove off when I'm not using it. Unbelievable.
Finally, Krieger finishes his spiel and leaves me alone to unpack. Whilst putting everything away, I notice that, despite the fact that I have an enormous window overlooking the street and several other people's balconies, there is no curtain. This window literally stretches from floor to ceiling and nearly all the way across the outside wall of my room; there's really no hiding from this beast. What I'm saying here is that, in my own room, even with the door closed and locked, I still have to go into the bathroom to avoid showing off my considerable manhood to the citizenry of Nuremberg and my fellow students. Maybe the designer of the building is trying to convince me that this is acceptable behavior in German culture; even if so, I'll still need to warm up to the idea. No matter, I'll try anything once.
Seriously though, this implies far more than my nudity. Think for one second, my dear reader, if you do indeed exist, of all the things that humans probably do that aren't necessarily immoral or entirely indecent but are certainly things they do not want to put on display. This means no nose picking, butt scratching, crotch scratching, armpit picking, pube cutting, booger eating, or indecent self-examination. Not that I do any of these things of course, I'm just trying to paint the full picture of the living status of the "glass house." And that certainly doesn't mean that these things are wrong, I just don't do them, you see. Ever. Period. None of them. Seriously.
The room is great, but, as they say concerning glass houses, don't touch yourself. Oh, and I guess my rock-throwing days are probably gone for awhile, too.