As a welcome to incoming students who will be dwelling in the residence halls this year, I, a survivor, would like to share a few tidbits about dorm life not enumerated in the official literature.
Foremost, you must know the truth of the "mandatory" house meeting. Tacking on "mandatory" is merely a scare tactic used to drive up attendance. The atmosphere of these essentially pointless gatherings is an unnerving cross between kindergarten and a cult, the creepiness compounded by the fact that no one else seems unsettled. Of course, my experience may have been anomalous–you may not spend your meetings glancing nervously from your watch to the door and waiting for the opening chords of "Kum By Ya" to be struck or the poisoned Kool-Aid to be poured.
Though this university is quite diverse, you'd never know it based upon dorm room decor. Though residents may come from many nations, they are united by out-of-season Christmas lights, tacky inflatable furniture and posters of androgynous teen celebrities. If your side of the room looks more sophisticated than a junior high locker, you will immediately distinguish yourself as a Vern in a sea of Hildis, Franks and Kias.
Speaking of, if you're like me and chart the passage of your week with prime time television, be aware that conventional logic does not hold in the realm of hall TV lounges. My house fellow commandeered the lounge every Must-See Thursday in order to hold "knitting nights." Avoid the lounge and secure a private TV–no one should be put in the position of having to weigh the hotness of Carter and Kovac against the risk of being trapped into prolonging the life of a dying art.
As for your fellow inhabitants, disbelieve if you will, but there are people in this world for whom the acts of leaving dirty size large thongs to litter the floor and clipping toenails at 3 a.m. do not fall under the rubric of "rude." Odds are, one of these unsavory creatures will wind up being your room mate.
Similarly, it is almost assured that one or two folks on your floor will have a cringe-inducing penchant for song. These strolling minstrels troll the hallways and, in defiance of quiet hours, hold informal auditions for "American Idol" nightly in the restrooms. If you can't find a snippy British critic to tell these songbirds to choke on their tunes, invest in a nice pair of headphones.
Indeed, few and precious are moments of peace in the typical hall. But forget the jingling key chains, slamming doors and alarm clocks which could double as air raid sirens–if there is one aural irritant I implore you to combat, it is the Instant Messenger sound effects. Prolonged exposure to those ascending and descending "boings" is no doubt a means of torture as effective as any curling iron or stun gun.
I hope I haven't been unduly harsh in my assessment of residence hall living–fear not, for despite the high-pitched wailing which permeates the corridors, the recurrent outbreaks of plague, the chronically malfunctional fire alarms and the occasional rodent sightings, the dorms aren't likely to be confused with the festering bowels of hell. Hell doesn't have a high-speed ethernet connection.
Holly Noe's column (which she intends to be humorous) runs weekly during the academic year. She can be reached at [email protected].