2007/07/14 00:13
Twenty
Moving on campus was the best thing I ever did for my personal growth.
Until then, I'd lived with my parents, twelve miles from campus, a commuter student who only went to class and then headed home. My best friend at the time and I had planned to room together, but I just couldn't afford the housing, and my mom wouldn't pay it.
"You have free room and board here as long as you're in school," she said. "If you want to live somewhere else, that's your burden to shoulder."
And shoulder it I did. By the beginning of the fall 1997 semester, I had enough money saved to move into the freshman dorms -- not my dream destination, but better than nothing.
I had a roommate for about six weeks. Landon was a true freshman, new to UNM and New Mexico, going to college ostensibly for a degree but truthfully to get sidetracked as quickly as possible. He rushed a fraternity and moved into their house, leaving me with a double room for one person. Gee, and I thought we'd had so much in common, what with the ska bands we were both in and the porn we downloaded.
Despite the lack of in-room socialization from then on, living on campus was a happening time. After all, I'd come to a student housing complex where there were 2,000 students living from a house in the Far Northeast Heights where there was one. I didn't get involved right away -- the residence hall Olympiad left me cold, starting as it did at eight in the damn morning, and my resident advisor's programs mostly consisted of him ordering pizza and laying it out in his room for us to take back to ours. But the longer I lived there, the more I began to do.
I started hanging out in the Cellar, the dormitory pizza place, playing pool with guys I didn't know before. I did homework in the commons, befriending by sight the usual suspects who worked or studied there. I attended more functions the activities committee sponsored. And eventually, I applied to be an RA myself.
My time with residence life didn't end well, sadly. The politics involved wore me out, to the point where I burned my bridges with several co-workers. When two of my best friends (one my girlfriend) were fired in an elaborate cloak-and-dagger scheme masterminded by a toadying suckup, I was glad I was through.
Still, if I may be so corny, residence life molded a lot of the facets that make me who I am today. Without it, I might still be shy, reticent, uncooperative, and evasive. But I'd still be great-looking.
Until then, I'd lived with my parents, twelve miles from campus, a commuter student who only went to class and then headed home. My best friend at the time and I had planned to room together, but I just couldn't afford the housing, and my mom wouldn't pay it.
"You have free room and board here as long as you're in school," she said. "If you want to live somewhere else, that's your burden to shoulder."
And shoulder it I did. By the beginning of the fall 1997 semester, I had enough money saved to move into the freshman dorms -- not my dream destination, but better than nothing.
I had a roommate for about six weeks. Landon was a true freshman, new to UNM and New Mexico, going to college ostensibly for a degree but truthfully to get sidetracked as quickly as possible. He rushed a fraternity and moved into their house, leaving me with a double room for one person. Gee, and I thought we'd had so much in common, what with the ska bands we were both in and the porn we downloaded.
Despite the lack of in-room socialization from then on, living on campus was a happening time. After all, I'd come to a student housing complex where there were 2,000 students living from a house in the Far Northeast Heights where there was one. I didn't get involved right away -- the residence hall Olympiad left me cold, starting as it did at eight in the damn morning, and my resident advisor's programs mostly consisted of him ordering pizza and laying it out in his room for us to take back to ours. But the longer I lived there, the more I began to do.
I started hanging out in the Cellar, the dormitory pizza place, playing pool with guys I didn't know before. I did homework in the commons, befriending by sight the usual suspects who worked or studied there. I attended more functions the activities committee sponsored. And eventually, I applied to be an RA myself.
My time with residence life didn't end well, sadly. The politics involved wore me out, to the point where I burned my bridges with several co-workers. When two of my best friends (one my girlfriend) were fired in an elaborate cloak-and-dagger scheme masterminded by a toadying suckup, I was glad I was through.
Still, if I may be so corny, residence life molded a lot of the facets that make me who I am today. Without it, I might still be shy, reticent, uncooperative, and evasive. But I'd still be great-looking.
