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daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Roxanne M Cartwright)
Tue Jan 26 13:34:59 1999
To: sigmas-humor@MIT.EDU, humor@MIT.EDU
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From: Abigail H Pelcyger <abby@MIT.EDU>
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Subject: College Life
Date: Fri, 22 Jan 1999 17:47:38 -0500
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I received the following from my brother. It's his preview to college
life...
The inventor of dormitories . . . let's find him, make him pay for the
travesties he's visited on America's youth, and force him to listen to
Matchbox 20. Can't you see him designing these hellish stacks of humanity
many years ago? From the sidewalk he raised his hands triumphantly and
said, "It shall be like the projects with less violence and more marijuana!"
He then took lumber and Elmer's Paste, as it is written, to create these pet
carrier sized rooms that we live in. You wanna know why people from the
projects hardly ever go to college? It's because they don't want to leave
their lush surroundings.
The actual term dormitory is of course derived from the Latin term for
sleep, which is appropriate because that is all you have space to do. You
have to do it standing up in the bathroom sink, but it can be done. The
luckier students have space to scratch their asses but the windows have to
be open and their roommates have to be gone for the weekend. When you go
home the closets even feel like a gymnasium, and you can romp around in the
bathroom like a horny antelope. I can't imagine the kids who brought
everything they own and like a sectional couch to the dorm. I brought like
a condom and a sock. Next semester I hope to have a towel and the other
sock. I also need a new condom.
Forget having space to sleep. Who sleeps anyway? Nobody on my campus.
I think it's a rule. This one kid tried but no one knows what happened to
him. Let's just say his floormates never saw him awake again. I feel like
I'm a member of the national insomnia coalition. 0ur agenda involves a lot
of Frappacino and staring at the test pattern on TV. It's like this strange
pseudo-vampire lifestyle. Did you know that if you stay up late enough they
play the Tonight Show over again and it still isn't funny? No sleep really
fucks with your eating habits too. Every night at 2 in the morning you get
as hungry as a Bosnian and you have to go to the vending machine to watch
the one bagel spin in the carousel of salmonella. People have White Zombie
playing until 5:00 in the morning, which to me really encompasses my mood at
5:00 in the morning. I could be listening to Kenny G and it would seem
hardcore at 5 in the morning.
It doesn't matter because you still can't get an open clothes drier
minutes before sunrise. There's like this one chick whose always tying up
an entire drier with one pair of panties. I let it slide because it gives
me an opportunity to watch hypnotically tumbling panties. The worst is when
she turns out to be grosser than gross and you have to vomit in your laundry
basket. Not that the dryers work anyway. I could fart on my laundry and
get it drier than the converted toaster ovens that the university supplies.
Dry jeans? Forget about it. I had to convert mine to a deep-sea wet suit.
So what if you want to leave the dorm? Get ready for a chore. You'll
need keys, ID, bag, books, a map, an umbrella, sun glasses, insulin, a snake
bite kit, mace, a pack mule, and an Algonquin Indian translator. Then you
have to go walking through the building kissing the asses of all the dweebs
you live with and holding the door for anyone in the same county.
What's with the door holding policy? Like opening a door requires a
spotter. If you've got arms, a coordinated foot, or useful nub, open your
own damn door. No matter where you go you have to use these
gerbil-on-a-wheel-elevators. I could climb up the side of the building with
a corpse tied to my johnson in less time than it takes for the door to
close.
Then you have to fucking march for miles from your dorm which is
conveniently placed on fucking opposite side of the campus from any building
that is fucking remotely important. People on rollerblades I accept, people
on bikes I have urges to clothesline but tolerate, but people on skateboards
have a value just below medically retarded nazis. It must be explained to
them that skateboards were cool when we were 11 and even then they weren't
that cool.
Where are you headed? Probably to get something to eat at the dining
hall. The only dish they haven't fucked up is Lucky Charms. I think the
university supplies them with a blender and unlimited horse meat mixed with
some retired circus animals. The key to making the menu fresh and exciting
is the food coloring. The charming and buck-toothed lunch ladies proudly
announce, "Yesterday we had chicken nuggets and today we present to you blue
chicken chunks that are totally unrelated to the nugget dish we served you
just yesterday. We are serious, they have nothing to do with each other. I
stake my hair net on it. You can have extra blue in yours." And the ladies
(who really seem to love living in the exciting scooping career) refuse to
serve more than what fits on a toothpick. You can't just ask for a large
portion, you have to ask for "more than the offensive line could consume
this semester." Then you get a second blue nugget. Remember how excited
the potato bar got you the first week? Now the potato bar makes you
homicidal. (What are bacon flavored bits made of?)
Then you get to come home to your room. Mine is called a suite, which is
a pretty cruel manipulation of the English language. I get to spend time
with the closet case that the boarding office apparently found compatible
with me. He's like Chewbacca's considerably less attractive estranged midget
cousin. A wookie also has better control of the English language. My
roommate is another rant all together. Most people get one of two kinds of
roommates, the one who sharpens knives while he watches you sleep (mine),
and the one who asks you what it's like to go outside (also mine). My suite
mates next door live an intensely Rastafarian lifestyle. In an attempt to
put Cheech and Chong to shame, their bong is a centerpiece of the room that
they clean with wadded textbook pages. They smoke to Bob Marley at 3:00 in
the morning on Wednesdays which is a little too hardcore but you have to
love their dedication to the sport.
End your dorm day by hopping in the shower. It's as big as a
tupperware container. It has four temperatures, fucking hot, really fucking
hot, nuclear, and ice chunks blowing from the showerhead. Whenever somebody
flushes a toilet on the campus the temperature goes to skin removal levels
and I go blind for a few minutes. I swear it is connected to every toilet.
My brother flushed the toilet at home last week and I called him to tell him
to be a little more considerate. The bathroom is as clean as any fast food
restaurant urinal cake after the average college student cleans the shitter
with a bottle of Vodka it's as clean as any bus station. I've given up on
cleaning the bathroom and I'm disinfecting myself. A quick spray down with
Lysol Direct and my body is fresh and repellant to several bacteria.
Bottom line. Turn up the music and try to get high off the fumes
coming from under the bathroom door because they never share. The "best
days of your life" will be over soon.
Observations by a University of Miami student named Kevin.
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