Whats up, Clauds? is a new series that chronicles the funny, off wall, and sometimes reflective experiences of Claudia, a Simmons Student just trying to make it to her next class.
Are you there, Housing Selection Gods?
It's me, Claudia, just one of the many first-years counting down the days until Housing Selection with an equal mix of delight and dread (8 days for rising sophomores at the time of writing, in case you were wondering).
First, I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to sit down and read this. I imagine you must be terribly busy around this time of year, especially when it comes to sorting through the many offerings of half-empty Ben and Jerry's pints from Quadside my peers and I have dedicated to you in our itty-bitty freezers. (For your convenience, I've put Cheesecake Brownie on top. If that's not your favorite flavor, I sincerely apologize and implore you to reconsider your taste in ice cream.) Since I've already clicked "submit" on my housing application, all I can do now is wait for the fateful day in which I actually bother to check my mailbox to see if I will line up closer to 7:30 or 8:30.
I'm sure it goes without saying that nothing strikes such intense fear and anxiety in the hearts of students like the words "housing selection" (except when it's 12:20 and you really, really need your daily grilled cheese from the Fens ASAP), so I don't need to remind you what's at stake here. Of course, as a lowly sophomore whose only upperclass friends are graduating seniors, the stakes are much lower: unlike some of my more ambitious friends, I did not bother listing Evans as my top hall choice this year in the vain hopes that it might net me a number that doesn't start with "3". (Maybe next year.)
However, that doesn't mean that my roommate and I don't have grand dreams for our room next year. Given the peculiar situation I found myself in this past year (in a room that I can only accurately describe in one phrase as a "closetless walkthrough quad"), I would like to have a closet in my room (as well as a window ledge and maybe a bookshelf). Asking for a closet is a bit strange, I realize, but it's better to be safe than sorry, right? And given my roommate's job as a campus ambassador, we would love to show off the best that Morse Hall (you can't get rid of us that easily, Morse!) has to offer. Which we hope includes closets.
(But don't get me wrong, Housing Selection Gods - I really, really love where I lived this year. People may not believe me at first when I insist I live right there next to the printer in my super-unique room, but I do and I love it, missing closet and all. I might even visit whoever lives there next year!)
As a matter of fact, my roommate and I are too attached to our hall to leave. Besides our cozy lounge and our super-awesome RA's and RD (hi, Adam!), we love the community we have been fortunate enough to be a part of, despite living on the first floor (which is known as a "vacation destination" from the rest of the hall). Although we'll have to make the trek to visit our many friends in bigger places (like Arnold) next year, we are absolutely looking forward to welcoming a new group of hallmates and (hopefully) sharing with them the slivers of wisdom we've gained as former first-years, as well many laughs, bonding sessions, and above all, Thin Mints.
Much of this, of course, hinges on you. So now I ask you, Housing Selection Gods, to do just one thing: work your random algorithmic magic not only for my roommate and I, but for every other residence student anxiously awaiting their housing fate for next year. I write this letter to you not only because I hope for a favorable living situation, but because I also hope that everyone in every hall is blessed with communities that are as spirited, close-knit, and caring as the one I live in now. Every floor community is different, yes, but that doesn't mean that they can't all be equally wonderful and filled with astonishingly lovely people that aren't just my "hallmates", but are mates (that's "friends" in Aussie-speak) that live in my hall. If you do this for me, then I will have officially made my peace with you and your strange methods of lottery number assignment.
But you should definitely still throw in a bookshelf to sweeten the deal.