Dorm Life

The inventor of dormitories . . . let's find him, make him pay for the
travesties he's visited on America's youth, and force him to listen to


Matchbox 20. Can't you see him designing these hellish stacks of


humanity many years ago? From the sidewalk he raised his hands


triumphantly and said, "It shall be like the projects with less violence


and more marijuana!" He then took lumber and Elmer's Paste, as it is


often called, to create these pet carrier sized rooms that we live in.


You wanna know why people from the projects hardly ever go to college?


It's because they don't want to leave their lush surroundings.


The actual term dormitory is of course derived from the Latin term


for sleep, which is appropriate because that is all you have space to


do. You have to do it standing up in the bathroom sink but it can be


done. The luckier students have space to scratch their asses but the


windows have to be open and their roommates have to be gone for the


weekend. When you go home the closets even feel like a gymnasium, and


you can romp around in the bathroom like a horny antelope.


I can't imagine the kids who brought everything they own to the


dorm. I brought like a condom and a sock. Next semester I hope to have a


towel and the other sock. I also need a new condom. Forget


having space to sleep. Who sleeps anyway? Nobody on my campus.


I think it's a rule. This one kid tried but no one knows what happened


to him. Let's just say his floormates never saw him awake again. I feel


like I'm a member of the national insomnia coalition. 0ur agenda


involves a lot of Frappacino and staring at the test pattern on tv. It's


like this strange pseudo-vampire lifestyle. Did you know that if you


stay up late enough they play the Tonight Show over again and it still


isn't funny? No sleep really fucks with your eating habits too. Every


night at 2 in the morning you get as hungry as a Bosnian and you have to


go to the vending machine to watch the one bagel spin in the carousel of


salmonella.


People have White Zombie playing until 5 AM, which to me really


encompasses my mood at 5AM. I could be listening to Kenny G and it


would seem hardcore at 5 in the morning. It doesn't matter because you


still can't get an open clothes drier minutes before sunrise. There's


like this one chick whose always tying up an entire drier with like one


pair of panties. I let it slide because it gives me an opportunity to


watch hypnotically tumbling panties. The worst is when she turns out to


be morbidly obese and you have to vomit in your laundry basket. Not that


the dryers work anyway. I could fart on my laundry and get it drier than


the converted toaster ovens that the university supplies. Dry jeans?


Forget about it. I had to convert mine to a deep-sea wet suit.


So what if you want to leave the dorm?Get ready for a chore.


You'll need keys, ID, bag, books, a map, an umbrella, sun glasses,


insulin, a snake bite kit, mace, a pack mule, and an Algonquin Indian


translator (Miami students you know what that's all about). Then you


have to go walking through the building kissing the asses of all the


dweebs you live with and holding the door for anyone in the same county.


What's with the door holding policy? Like opening a door requires a


spotter. If you've got arms, a coordinated foot, or useful nub, open


your own God damn door.


>>>>>>


No matter where you go you have to use these gerbil-on-a-wheel


elevators. I could climb up the side of the building with a corpse tied


to my johnson in less time than it takes for the door to close. Then you


have to fucking march for miles from your dorm which is conveniently


placed on fucking opposite side of the campus from any building that is


fucking remotely important.


People on rollerblades I accept, people on bikes I have urges to


clothesline but tolerate, but people on skateboards have a value just


below medically retarded nazis. It must be explained to them that


skateboards were cool when we were 11 and even then they weren't that


cool.


Where are you headed? Probably to get something to eat at the


dining hall. The only dish they haven't fucked up is Lucky Charms. I


think the university supplies them with a blender and unlimited horse


meat mixed with some retired circus animals. The key to making the menu


fresh and exciting is the food coloring. The charming and buck-toothed


lunch ladies proudly announce, "Yesterday we had chicken nuggets and


today we present to you blue chicken chunks that are totally unrelated


to the nugget dish we served you just yesterday. We are serious, they


have nothing to do with each other. I stake my hair net on it. You can


have extra blue in yours." And the ladies (who really seem to love livin


in the exciting scooping career) refuse to serve more than what fits on


a toothpick. You can't just ask for a large portion, you have to ask for


"more than the offensive line could consume this semester." Then you get


a second blue nugget. Remember how excited the potato bar got you the


first week? Now the potato bar makes you homicidal. (What are bacon


flavored bits madeof?)


Then you get to come home to your room. Mine is called a suite,


which is a pretty cruel manipulation of the English language. I get to


spend time with the closet case that the boarding office apparently


found compatible with me. He's like Chewbacca's considerably less


attractive estranged midget cousin. A wookie also has better control of


the English language. My roommate is another rant all together. Most


people get one of two kinds of roommates, the one who sharpens knives


while he watches you sleep (mine), and the one who asks you what it's


like to go outside (also mine). My suite mates next door live an


intensely Rastafarian lifestyle. In an attempt to put Cheech and Chong


to shame, their bong is a centerpiece of the room that they clean with


wadded textbook pages. They smoke to Bob Marley at 3AM on Wednesday


nights which is a little too hardcore but you have to love their


dedication to the sport.


End your dorm day by hopping in the shower. It's as big as a


tupperware container. It has 3 temperatures, fucking hot, really fucking


hot, and nuclear. Whenever somebody flushes a toilet on the campus the


temperature goes to skin removal levels and I go blind for a few


minutes. I swear it is connected to every toilet. My brother flushed the


toilet at home last week and I called him to tell him to be a little


more considerate. The bathroom is as clean as any fast food restaurant


urinal cake and after the average college student cleans the shitter


with a bottle of Vodka it's as clean as any bus station. I've given up


on cleaning the bathroom and I'm disinfecting myself. A quick spray down


with Lysol Direct and my body is fresh and repellant to several


bacteria.


Bottom line. Turn up the music and try to get high off the fumes


coming from under the bathroom door because they never share. The


"best days of your life" will be over soon.