I remember, way back during last semester, when it came time for my roommate and I to decide what our housing situation would be for the fall semester. We unfortunately did not get a room on the much-coveted third floor of Medaille, but instead had to settle for whatever was left of the picked-over rooms on the building’s second floor. Little did I know during the “hurry up and choose” pressure of the moment that I had picked a room in what is potentially the worst spot ever.
Now, naturally you may be wondering, “What’s so bad about the location of your room?” If you want to experience the badness for yourself, just walk up the stairs to the second floor and open the door. There I am. Front and center. Where everyone can see. That’s what’s so bad about the location. Read on as I enlighten you.
First and foremost, anytime somebody comes through the door, I feel obliged to say “hello” to him or her if I’m sitting at my desk with my door open (which is 99.9% of the time when I’m in my dorm). This becomes quite awkward when I don’t actually know the person who has just come in through the door. What do I do? Stare dumbly at the person who has entered the floor? Pretend that I’m so engrossed in that monstrous beige organic textbook that I didn’t even notice the presence of another individual? Say “hello” even though I don’t know him or her? Aaah, the dilemma. And on top of that, the door squeaks like no other. My case in point: when I call home, my mom can hear the door open and close in the background, and she insists that I have one of the maintenance people come up and fix it. As if I have time to deal with that.
Secondly, I hate that everyone who walks through the door can see me studying, which is, like I mentioned above, 99.9% of the time. This has lead me to hypothesize that the people on my floor think of me in one of two ways:
A.) As the obnoxiously dedicated smarty pants who was dumb enough to choose a room right across from the door.
B.) As the lame girl who was sitting in the same position with that hideous beige textbook when you left for class an hour ago and still hasn’t moved.
Yes, if I had chosen a different room, maybe my fellow residents would have a different view of me.
The final reason my room is lousy, and the reason that ultimately inspired this blog post, is the fact that I can never again make popcorn in my dorm. I unfortunately burnt some a little while ago, and now the whole floor smells crispy. What makes the situation worse, however, are the comments I hear every time somebody walks by my room. Here are a few I have heard over the course of the evening:
“Burnt popcorn! My favorite smell!”
“Hmm..smells like somebody burnt popcorn or something.”
This has led me to not only smirk at the fact that I’m the cause of the less than delicious smell traveling down the hall and nobody can seem to figure it out, but also to cringe in embarrassment for my inability to use a microwave without causing a disaster. I think, for once, I may have to close my door this time.
Have a good rest of the week!
“French Exit” by The Antlers (arguably my favorite band)