To all of you Animal House and Old School fans that came to college with the aim of partying as hard as you study, I will kindly relate my story of general failure and upset regarding that goal. I lived in Warren Towers three years ago, back when there was no cable television and Shields Tower was still smoker-friendly.
Between the days when I was accused of violating housing policy and when I was finally placed on deferred suspension from Warren there was a long and stressful limbo. It was at that point, I believe, that my solid-B average began its steady decline to the C-minus range.
Weeks upon weeks of deliberation, guided by a judicial process that moves slower than my granny, resulted in a sentence detailing a three-year ban from not just Warren, but all other Boston University dormitories and dining halls as well. The monetary fine was significant, the impact on my relationship with my parents was devastating and I moved out of that dormitory with half the self-confidence I came in with.
Homeless, my friends and I found a gorgeous apartment in a three-story building right by the T in Allston.
We thought this was a lucky find. Our landlord, who didn’t speak much English, lived in the apartment downstairs. She also ran the Buddhist temple upstairs, which we were told was only active on the weekends.
In the course of the next few months, I learned the joys of walking to class in snowstorms, communicating with a landlord who does not speak my language and huddling by an inactive heater in hopes that a spritz of steam would counteract the cold sensation brought on by a harsh gust of futility.
To this day, I wonder what those Buddhists were doing upstairs to make our ceiling shake.
The reason I am recalling these details is to make this point: even with my crazy landlord, with heatless winter nights and stomping Buddhists above, I still thought that apartment was better than living in the prison they call Warren.
Even if I could get past the broken-down elevators, dining hall salads with bugs in them, fire drills in the dead of winter and the infamous guest policy, I would still have to face other anal retentive, improperly drawn procedures that govern BU dormitories.
One of my friends once got a housing violation for throwing a Frisbee in the hallway. Another was hauled to the hospital on a stretcher while conscious (and almost completely sober) because she lost her dinner in the bathroom toilet that evening.
One group of friends was harassed for smoking the legal herb salvia in a designated smoking room. The Resident Assistants insisted — until proven wrong by drug tests — they recognized the smell of marijuana coming from the room.
Sitting now in my own well-heated, freshly cleaned apartment far from the ever-overactive eye of BU authority, I am wondering, as I have many times before, why freshmen are required to live in a dormitory.
There is, from what I understand, no shortage of demand for student housing. Perhaps those who wish to brave the city on their own could ease the burden of that demand.
As it was explained to me, the requirement is set for the students’ safety and to prevent the freshmen, many of whom are alone in a big city for the first time, from harm and uncertainty.
My own sense of uncertainty had always come from the prospect of living in Warren. While I did meet an array of interesting people and quite a few friends, my reservations remained throughout my stay. I saw them reflected in the streaks of vomit spouted about the community bathroom, in dark shadows cast on drab, yellow walls and in the eyes of my roommate, whose company proved less than comforting.
The eventual freedom I gained when I left the dorms was exactly what I hoped it would be. Though I lost the comfort of my neighboring student friends, I gained the independence and privacy I had long anticipated. I also happened to learn along the way that it is prudent to consult several realtors, if necessary, when searching for an apartment. If something looks shady, it probably is. Good landlords are also very hard to find.
My days and nights are no longer governed by Terrier Cards and visiting hours, and while I strongly regret the manner of my departure from BU housing, I think it was for the better.