When most people think about college, they think about their experiences in class, the social life and probably the aspect of their living situation. Most people probably lived or live currently in a dorm. Well to me, there is nothing like life in a dorm, and here is why.
Where else in the world do you share one bathroom with seven sinks, seven showers and 10 toilets, with 57 other girls? Where else in the world do you live in a room with a bed, a desk, a dresser, a closet, a fridge and that’s it? Where else in the world do you instantly have built-in friends?
That’s one particularly unique and outstanding quality about dorms. The community of people is like a family. My hall is especially close to one another. Smith Hall, 129 Hemenway St. is a little off the beaten path of campus. It is one wide red brick building with three floors. Where one fourth of the population of Smith is girls. I am not exaggerating. Of the three floors, two are completely boys and the second floor is half girls, half boys. But I feel like everyday I come into Smith and see a new boy I’ve never seen before.
But on the other hand, there are the usual suspects sitting in the second floor common room, which is conveniently (or not so conveniently) located very close to my room. I see these kids every time I walk to the bathroom. Sometimes they say hello and sometimes they don’t. I hardly ever join in with them. You might call me anti-social for doing this, but you don’t know Smith Hall.
Smith is unique to Northeastern because everyone calls us a family. And granted we kind of are, well some of us. Everyone knows a majority of the people who frequent the common room. But (and that’s a big but), these people have come together simply because they have one thing in common, the place that they live. Some legitimate friendships have resulted from what we call “Smith Love,” for instance Chelsea and me. But for the most part, these people come together on Friday nights before going out, Saturday mornings to recount the happenings of the night before, and they even go out to breakfast on Sunday mornings in their pajamas.
I have absolutely no desire to do this with them because I would rather make a true connection and friendship with someone based on what we have in common, not just our address. But I admire this Smith family; however, I’ll really admire them next year if they all stay friends. My guess is that they’ll part here on April 30 and maybe say a friendly hello in passing, but nothing more. For me this will be ok.
I think a freshmen dorm is designed for its exact purpose. It serves as a little community the first year of college then everyone takes the different paths they choose.
Let me give you a good example of how a freshmen dorm has served its purpose. The Smith Hall Council, whom we elected in the first week of school, planned a HUGE Halloween party…well sorta. It was advertised for a month. “There’ll be pizza, candy, music and a costume contest,” the signs read. Sounds like fun, right? Wrong.
My group of friends dressed up as the 90s icon the Spice Girls. We took an hour to get ready, we had great costumes, and we were pretty excited to go to this “great” party. We went down the elevator and walked into the lamest sight I’ve ever seen.
The pool table had off brand candy on it. All the pizza was gone. A laptop hooked up to some speakers played homecoming-esque music, the bad kind. And the costume contest…well there were a few people dressed up. Only nine people actually put in any effort. That would be the Spice girls, some lumber jacks, and two girls in a Smith Hall inside joke costume. Well those are the people who won the costume contest and a free movie ticket. Thank God Chelsea won most creative for her wild hair for Scary Spice, or this party might not have been worth it.
The rest of the people who were at the party were sitting in chairs on their laptops not talking to anyone. The people who planned it looked even less enthusiastic about the situation than I did.
We stayed for thirty minutes. I would rather have been back in kindergarten putting my hand into a brown paper bag filled with cold spaghetti squealing because it’s supposed to be brains.
Thanks Smith Hall for being my home this year, but don’t invite me to any more parties.
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