Why is the Engineering Building suspiciously reminiscent of a mole colony? You would have to be as visually impaired as the subterranean mammal not to notice that both the outside and inside are aesthetically deplorable.

It dawned on me the other day, on my way to a class there, that the design of the structure could be greatly improved with some renovation and artistic know-how. One might begin by altering the roof that juts up in a jagged and awkward fashion and seems to offer a convenient roost for some itinerant bird of prey. The exterior, which is composed of drab, gray cement, is constructed in the fashion of a horizontal Jenga tower and its portals are non-descript, inducing a sense of lethargy and deflated emotion to anyone who passes through them.

Inside, windows are scarce, corridors are narrow and hallways are dimly lit by what mistakenly appear to be floodlights. In fact, the entire structure is nearly impervious to natural light. Aside from an occasional welding spark given off by what seems to be perpetual construction, it is a dark and gloomy place. The darkness, in combination with the extensive piping along the ceilings resembling earthworms, accentuates the mole-like environment there.

Navigating through the edifice isn’t any more pleasant of an experience than observing it. The halls wind and suddenly disappear around corners like a labyrinth, and the geometric repetitiveness of the layout makes it easy to get lost if you don’t already know your way around. The only indications for direction are maps with alphabetized zones and a copious number of signs posted on doors reading ‘DANGER!’ and ‘WARNING, DO NOT ENTER.’ Most troubling of all is the notice on the door facing the Old University Union, indicating that some 4,000 square feet of J-Pod has to be removed on account of asbestos. A missed turn or losing one’s bearings could have dire repercussions.

What would compel someone to design a building in such an abhorrent manner? One possibility is that the building’s blueprints were conceived by an engineering/economics double major who had envisioned a cement asylum that would combine the beauty of a factory with the essence of functionality. But of all the potential scenarios, I am most compelled to stand by my initial suspicion that the mole people are responsible for this travesty of a building. This would further explain the archaic letters engraved on the peculiarly shaped ‘Tau Beta Pi’ sculpture out front.

The bland reality, however, is that it was named after Thomas J. Watson, corporation founder of IBM.

Watson’s motto, also the academic philosophy of the Watson school, is that ‘there is no saturation point in education,’ and Watson’s picture reaffirms this strictly business-like credo. His photo in the online IBM archive could very well have been the inspiration for the architects who created the hulking mass of ugly we know as the Watson School of Engineering. From his photographs, Watson’s demeanor appears to be stoic, and one questions whether he has ever smiled a day in his life.

Although this article is written tongue-in-cheek, the underlying truth of the matter is that the physical environment of any institution should be conducive to its objectives. At the University, learning is based upon enlightenment, broadening of one’s horizons, opportunities and knowledge. Campus facilities should work in conjunction with these ideals, not in opposition to them.