Keep on Grooving, Because We're Here For You
I couldn't resist writing something
about the first-year housing lottery, the results of which came out yesterday. Although I'm writing this g-train before the fateful morning (yesterday, for me, is actually the day after tomorrow), I know what went on because I've already been there. Time, you see, is anything but linear.
In early April two years ago, my future roommate darted into my room, bath towel wrapped around her hair, envelope in hand. "You'll never believe what they did to us," she screamed. My heart sank. "We got quadded," I said, thinking to myself that it wasn't too bad--living in 29 Garden St., we had already spent our first year quadded and had a great time. "No, it's even worse than the quad," she answered, sitting down in the floor. That took me completely by surprise; I didn't know there could be something worse than the quad. All of a sudden, it hit me. We had been randomized into Mather.
Of course we had. Three women, lousy lottery number, randomization, Mather. It all made perfect sense.
But not to us.
We were sure that someone, somewhere, had conspired. After all, out of a class of 1600, we had been three of the 160 to end up atGarden St. Sure, we had made the best of it andhad a great time--singles. Wonderful peoplesnowed-in together, continental breakfast in thecommon room during reading periods, kitchens tomess up, bathtubs. But we deserved a secondchance--the opportunity to live where we wantedto, preferably somewhere that wasn't half an houraway form class.
My roommate and I showered and got ready forclass, alternating glum silence with hystericalindignation. Then the phone rang. "I don't want totalk about it," I told my best friend. "Neither doI." he answered. He had been quadded.
My roommates and I spent the week figuring waysto get out of Mather. One of them thought abouthaving her mother, a physician, tell theadministration that my roommate needed to livesomewhere with a bathtub (curiously, there arenone in Mather) due to back problems. Talking tosomeone who knew someone was mentioned, andquickly discarded. We soon gave up and decidedwe'd make the best of our living arrangements.After all, we were getting good at that.
I tried my best to console my Currierite-to-befriend. I had only good things to say after myexperience as a semi-quadling: the dining hallpeople were very nice; the jungle in the middle ofCurrier dining hall was cool; Hilles was ablessing; the Quad was the place to be during theSpring. "You'll end up liking it," I tried toreassure him. I don't think he believed me.
Well, he should have, He loves Currier. Somuch, in fact, that when his three roommates movedoff-campus this semester, he decided to stay inthe House on his own. And my roommates and I loveMather. We love the Masters, who are sweet,supportive and funny--not to mention awesomecooks. We love the tutors, who are, well, sweet,supportive and funny--even when it's three in themorning and we have been sitting on their couchcrying for the last hour and a half, while theirgirlfriend waits in the next room. We love thedining hall workers; we love Jim the super. And,of course, we love the people who live in Mather,our rabbitwarren singles, the riot-proof hallways(OK, maybe not the hallways).
So our message to all first-years who feel yougot screwed over yesterday; don't despair. You'llprobably grow to love your House. Or you'lltransfer, and love your new House. Or you'll moveoff-campus, and love your apartment, and feelreally grown up and romanticize the squalor inyour kitchen. It will work out-not in the end,really soon. What's important is to be with peopleyou love, doing things you love. The place whereyou're doing them, well, is secondary