I will always laugh out loud at George. Nick makes me smile every time. And I still listen to Paulie on my iPod, from his recording with Juno.
As Thanksgiving approaches, most Harvard students are emerging from midterm season—a time where professors conveniently schedule midterm exams and essays within the same, short span of a few weeks. Dining halls are packed well past midnight. Coffee carafes are pumped without mercy until they choke and sputter. If one were to take a stroll on Mt. Auburn early on a Friday evening, he might be surprised at the relative quietness. It’s true that we Harvard students enjoy having a good time. But let’s be real—most of us take our midterms seriously.
Which is why every time I knock on a door with my cleaning supplies bucket and mop pole in hand, I pray that nobody answers. I bet that on a list of the most awkward situations in which Harvard students frequently find themselves, being in the room while a Dorm Crew worker cleans one’s bathroom is at the top.
Because he was a bus driver from the south, I had assumed without even a thought that he must be black.
Our periphery people keep our web stable and grounded. They are our source of comfort in scary social situations.