Did your roommate get “Slytherin” on a Harry Potter Buzzfeed quiz and now you have to switch dorms? Here’s your best-case scenario:
As you walk down a fashionable dirt mound that redirects the sunlight, you approach a beautiful, no-nonsense rectangular prism. Its steel walls are a cold grey; they remind you of the cold eyes of your physics tutor.
You make it to the distressed, thick glass door, but you’ve forgotten your RedCard. It takes 13 minutes until anyone is willing to take a break from homework to come by and let you in. There are two stories, consisting of a main floor and a catwalk around the perimeter of the second floor. They are very big on energy conservation here, so there is very little light of any kind. The windows are small and few, barred and tinted for the ultimate distraction-free rejuvenation experience. There is an obvious and intentional open-concept. In fact, the door to your single-double is barred so you can see right across the hall, and they can see you, mandating an unrivaled sense of community. You can’t help but notice the pale faces staring out from every door, amazed at the sight of an outsider. As you venture down the hall, you stop at the water heater closet that the students have fashioned into a bathroom. Don’t be shy, and take the toilet for its inaugural spin. Finally, you arrive at your room. It has a quaint charm that can only be described as “very small,” encouraging an intimate connection with your new roommate from the very first interaction. How cool are his thigh tattoos? Take a look at the view through your small looking hole. Another dirt mound! You had no idea there was another one of those on this side of the building. That’s two more dirt mounds than Andover has. As you lay back on your 1860’s hospital cot, wrapped in a stained, mangled blanket, a new feeling of serenity washes over you. You’re home. You really lucked out.