If I made any mistakes before my freshman year, they were that I browsed a few too many Bed Bath & Beyond catalogs and watched an overdose of “Gilmore Girls” reruns, allowing myself to falsely idealize the “glamour” of dorm life.
Indeed, I was the bright-eyed and eager little Bruin who actively clicked the “Dorm Central” link on The Container Store’s Web site, dreaming of the decorative possibilities available in the vast expanses of Rory Gilmore-esque square footage.
That said, I threw myself into the trenches by voluntarily signing up for a triple in a residence hall. A sour mistake for a girl who never quite understood the appeal of summer camp, and considered sharing a bathroom with her older sister as getting shortchanged.
Yet, I so bravely decided to live the “authentic” college experience, and convinced myself that living in a triple, sharing a bathroom with at least 40 other girls, and sleeping in a squeaky old bunk bed would be cozy and enchanting.
I was in for a devastating wake-up call that drab Friday morning I moved in to Hedrick Hall.
My dorm room, with bleak white walls and a window that never fully closed, had all the charisma and allure of a prison cell. The closets had paint chips falling off the doors and drawers that would make the sound of nails on a chalkboard when you attempted to yank them open.
When my roommates and I finally set up our desks and unpacked our load of textbooks for the fall quarter, there was barely enough wiggle room to vacuum our 3-foot-wide strip of free space.
Despite the physical boundaries of my living situation, Hedrick Hall became my home away from home.
And I, Rory-Gilmore-deception and summer-camp-hating aside, learned to obligingly grit my teeth. I accepted the dismal realities of dorm life ““ the lodging politics, the shower-stall etiquette, and even the skewed feng shui.
I can’t tell you how much I love having someone snicker at me for using the elevator while living on the second floor. And how ““ despite having the urge to snap “Hey sparky, I’m paying just as much for housing as you are!” ““ I’d resort to mumbling about a sprained ankle, torn ligament, or stress fracture while awkwardly shuffling my way out.
I can’t express the overwhelming emotion I felt when my neighbors coarsely blasted techno music, allowing the melodramatic and stale lyrics of Delirium featuring Sarah McLachlan to stir me awake from an agitated slumber. At 2 in the morning. During finals week.
I can’t relay the utter joy I experienced each time I went to take a shower and accidentally locked myself out of my room. I’d to march down to Hedrick’s front desk, red-faced and rattled, wearing a bathrobe and carrying a sopping shower bucket.
Most of all, I can’t communicate the delight of being woken up by yet another fire alarm at 5 a.m., after I’d drearily chugged down some NyQuil in a desperate attempt to fight off the winter’s flu ““ only to find out the alarm was a prank.
It’s really indescribable.
But, then again, so is the ease with which I learned to navigate Hedrick Hall and dorm life in general.
There are a few tips and tricks I picked up along the way.
Be wary of making popcorn; 30 seconds too long in that crafty MicroFridge contraption can trigger an unwarranted fire alarm. Always wear flip-flops in the shower, unless you happen to have a spare bottle of Clorox you’d be happy to dump on the floor. The prime time to do laundry is any time before 10 in the morning, as no sane-minded and sleep-deprived college student would be up that early anyway. Brunch is your first meal of the day, and a cup of Ramen noodles is your last.
But, sitting here and telling you about my residence hall experience pales in comparison to what actually occurs. In truth, every living situation ““ good or bad, noisy or boring ““ is unique and deserves the excitement that every Bed Bath & Beyond mega-store hypes it up to be.
Despite the shoddy living conditions of my first year, I have no regrets. I threw myself into the trenches, got about as close to “roughing it” as this L.A. native would allow, and, hey, turned up with something to write about.
So, when you find yourself with some hazardous foot fungus from the shower stalls or you’re on the verge of shoving your room key down your neighbor’s throat, cheer up. Remember the euphoria you felt on move-in day upon seeing move-in assistants in those goofy blue T-shirts, trucking around those gold and blue carts, leading you up to your future nest or makeshift sanctuary.
E-mail Chung at lchung@media.ucla.edu. General comments can be sent to viewpoint@media.ucla.edu.