3. A Trial Run

I won’t lie: moving to college was one of the scariest experiences I’ve faced. No matter how excited you are about living on your own, it’s bound to be a big adjustment. As high school raced to an end there was no way to know how I’d handle the move, so I tried to pray about it frequently and worry about it little. Then I received a crash course on college life over the summer, months before move-in. I was fortunate to get the experience – though I didn’t think so at the time.

University policy required students to attend one of three summer orientation dates. The idea was for incoming freshmen to spend two days meeting peers, getting acquainted with campus, and registering for classes. The first day included a tour, seminars, and small group discussion. We were separated from our parents, who had their own meetings about financial aid, adjusting to the absence of children, and more financial aid. The afternoon could be summed up as ‘bearable.’ Boring, but alright because the seminars weren’t terribly long and I talked to a couple kids in my group.

Registration was scheduled for the next day, following a lecture in the morning about how to register (exciting stuff, eh?). Since we live more than an hour away, my parents and I had little choice but to stay in town overnight. The University strongly suggested that students sleep in a dorm room, and gave parents the option of booking one for themselves. My parents, sensible adults with no desire to pay money for a night in a dorm, got a room at the hotel on the outskirts of town. Just because I had to stay in a dorm didn’t mean they should.

This was fine with me until I started talking to other students and found out most of them were staying at the hotel. Suddenly, I was angry with myself and my parents for believing the mailing that said students needed to stay in dorms. Mom and dad would have a nice room, a pool and probably a hot tub, on a little overnight vacation. I would have a tiny room and a community shower and some weirdo for a roommate.

That first day I had later meetings than my parents did, so by 3:00 there was no reason for them to stay on campus any longer. I tried to weasel them into taking me when they left, but they refused. The University had charged over a hundred bucks for me to stay in a stupid dorm room, which dad said would be good for me anyway. I felt closer to bawling than I had in a couple years as they drove away, leaving me on the steps of a strange building, holding my bag packed with shower stuff and clothes for the next morning.

I turned around and trudged inside, into the large conference room where the entire orientation group had started the day. It was now being used for academic advising, and seemed a ghost town compared to earlier. I needed to find out whether a foreign language was required for my major, so I waited in line to talk with a French-sounding old guy at a makeshift information desk. I told him my major, and he told me the best news I’d heard all day. As a business student, the only language I needed was English. I like English. Here ended the good news.

On the other side of the room was a huge line of people waiting to talk to math advisers. I picked up a ticket, numbered 83. I sat for fifteen minutes, then overheard that they were on number 40-something. After a few more minutes I decided there was no sense waiting for advice I’d ignore.

I knew that the adviser would tell me I needed a semester of pre-calc before taking business-required calculus (I’d scored below 50% on the online placement test). I was not going to take more math than necessary and was not in the mood for being told that I should. I crumpled the number into a pocket of my shorts, picked up my bag, and headed out.

I felt like such a loser, lugging around my overnight bag. Nobody else had things to haul around. Heck, hardly anyone else was around at all by that time in the afternoon. Most of the kids were skipping out on the last seminar and had gone with their parents to the hotel.

But soon I was glad the place had become semi-deserted, cause I had no idea where I was going. Even armed with a map it took an embarrassing degree of wandering to locate the building I’d been stuck in for the night (would now be a good time to mention that I’ve since become a University tour guide?).

I might collapse if I didn’t get rid of my bag. I finally cornered the correct building, signed in, and took a key. I went down the hall and found my room – there were two plastic “gift” bags hanging from the doorknob. I pulled off the top one and went in... the room was so small I could barely walk between the beds. The desks were pushed off in the corners, the closets jutted out into the room, and (of course) there was no air conditioner in the window.

My roommate was nowhere to be seen. This was a relief, because somehow I knew he was going to be strange. I dropped my bag on one of the beds and sat next to it, flipping through the sack of leaflets I’d grabbed on my way in the door. Most of the contents were junk, local advertisers trying to get a head start on the freshmen. I found a handful of decent coupons; everything else went in the trash.

There was nothing to do until dinner an hour and a half later. I sighed a little, stood, and went back into the hall. Several guys were standing around, and since I was alone I introduced myself. They weren’t especially friendly but they were funny, so for lack of options I decided to leech on into their group.

We went to dinner and it was nice having someone to eat with, even though they knew each other and I was clearly the odd man out. The schedule after dinner included one last seminar and then a party next to the dorm. I couldn’t quite see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I knew it was getting closer.

I followed the new guys around like a lonely penguin. Once the final meeting ended, my temporary friends headed for the bars to see if their fake IDs would work. I had no desire to go with them and still less of an urge to get in trouble before move-in, so I turned back. Although I didn’t think they would care, I mumbled something about going to check out the University’s party. I’m not sure they noticed.

This time I had no trouble finding my dorm – there were spotlights on and a small crowd for the party. The three-minute walk alone in the dark gave me time to think... My afternoon had been crappy but negotiable, and in about twelve hours I’d be home. The sidewalk I was treading was strange to me, but would be familiar by autumn’s end. Soon I would know the names of the buildings, and may even have friends to visit inside those buildings. I looked forward to being comfortable at school, knowing God would be with me through the rough parts.

I got back to the dorm and was unimpressed by the party. Several of the resident advisers were dancing and acting goofy, trying desperately to make things fun. I hate dancing and didn’t recognize anyone, so I got a cup of pop and a few pretzels. After milling around for a few minutes I’d had enough, but felt like a loser for going to bed so early. Determined to be a little outgoing, I said hi to a random girl and introduced myself. We talked for maybe thirty seconds before she walked away without a word.

Her attitude was the last straw – I would put up with no more from one stupid day. I went inside and back to my room, which was empty but for my bag and another on the floor to verify my roommate’s existence. The hall was abandoned, which presented a golden opportunity for me to take my shower.

I usually shower in the morning, but was willing to make an exception. Community restrooms were one of the most frightening aspects of college for me, and I wanted to take my first shower at the University without being seen naked, getting attacked, or both. There were girls in the same building and I was on the first floor, a combination I didn’t like.

Yep, community bathrooms and showers made me quite a bit nervous, and I didn’t feel like starting the next day surrounded by naked strangers. I dug my towel, soap, and shampoo out from my bag and went down the hall. The restroom was, as I had hoped, deserted. The showers, of which there were only four, were separated by thin plastic curtains. Getting this over with was definitely a good idea.

When I returned to my room it was still unoccupied. I flipped through some of the handouts that I’d accumulated over the course of the day, and was about to go to bed when my roommate showed up. It was only 11:00, so after we introduced ourselves I talked with him a bit. He was friendly, although he seemed a little... off. A short while later he left for the restroom, and I went to bed.

My roommate did the same when he got back, except apparently believed that ‘bedtime’ meant ‘loud music time.’ Although he had a portable CD player he saw no reason to wear the headphones. So, there I was at nearly midnight with some psycho in bed two feet away, cranking heavy metal while I’m trying to sleep.

Thankfully, after a few minutes he put his headphones on his head. I could have cheered, but the silence was short-lived. My roommate’s day must have been better than mine, because it was 12:30 and all of a sudden he was in the sort of mood you’d expect from a twelve-year-old girl at a slumber party. He started chatting away and though I barely responded it took him awhile to notice.

He shared with me a theory that he allegedly made up but probably heard on late night TV: imagine that your brain is like a herd of buffalo, and the stupid brain cells are the slow critters of the herd. If this were the case, then simple application of the knowledge that alcohol kills brain cells would lead to the conclusion that when drinking, you thin the herd by killing the slowest – and dumbest – cells. Therefore, the more heavily you drink, the smarter you will become.

I laughed, and it must have sounded encouraging because he went on to inform me it was perfectly safe to drive while high. He knew, because he had “driven completely baked” before. I didn’t know if he was serious or trying to be funny but either way I ignored him until finally he stopped talking. At last I fell asleep. The next morning, we ate breakfast together and then went our separate ways. I wonder if he made a continued habit of driving stoned – I haven’t seen the guy since.

My morning felt like a continuation of the less-than-Kodak-moment day before. I wandered around campus, struggling to correctly read my map and get wherever the heck I was supposed to be going. After snoozing through a talk on how to register for courses, I followed the crowd to a building across campus and filled out forms with the classes I wanted to take. After having my sheet checked by an adviser, I went to another building to sign on to the network and get down to business. Since I’m a computer nerd I was logged in, registered, and out in about five minutes.

Finally I was finished, and on the way home could whine to my parents about the torment they’d forced me to suffer. Back in the car, I was relieved to have a bad experience over with and almost happy it had turned out the way it did. I felt less anxious about leaving for school, knowing I could survive even if I got a weird roommate like the one I had for registration. Other scary preparation had been taken care of, too: my class schedule was set, I lived through using a community shower, and I got nice and familiar with having no idea where I was.