For eleven years I taught high school and found occasional opportunities to “let” students steer me off topic to telling stories of my experiences at college. I don’t have as many excuses to wander down memory lane these days, though I’ve been known to tell a tale or three at times. All of the frenzy of reconnecting that’s happening on Facebook fueled by the quickly approaching Homecoming weekend has brought a whole lot pack of memories to the surface.
Freshman year I lived on the 4th floor of Bodien and our RA (resident assistant) was Gayle. We named ourselves the Attic Angels in alignment with our brother floor the Cellar Dwellers. Rick was their RA and let’s just put it out there once and for all: I had quite the crush on him.
When I mentally start with Gayle’s room at the end of that 4th floor hallway (a room I admit to pranking a few times that year — but she got me back with a few pranks of her own), I find faces and stories behind each door.
I remember some ridiculous things like the girl who liked fudge but not chocolate (she shared that in a “getting to know you” game during Welcome Week) and the Sunday night when (where is my Roster, I’m losing names) one of the girls brought back a hatch back full of melons from her family’s farm and we gorged ourselves on it and then all found ourselves in the bathroom in the middle of the night paying the price.
My roommate, Tammy, was a really good roommate for me to have — she was a disciplined student and that helped me maintain some sense of order in my life. Me, I could study for about 40 minutes and then had to take a social break for 15-20 before I could do it again. I wandered that 4th floor hall from end to end a few times over the course of a week looking for someone to distract on one of my study breaks. I tried to spread the distraction around so as not to be too much of a pest.
I remember the night we got pennied in by the boys — they had sealed all of the 2nd and 3rd floor rooms and got about half on the 4th floor before someone heard them and sounded the alarm (aka “screamed” at them). I think it was Caryn who heard them. We spent the next hour or so releasing people from their rooms — often people who had not yet discovered that they were stuck.
I wrote most of my papers on the floor in the hallway that year — using a borrowed typewriter that had a cartridge ribbon thing you could change out for corrections. I was a terrible typist.
And Nik Dag — that might be a story for a different place.
Roommate roulette — I’ve written before about loving it when Joel Hodgson‘s floor over in Edgren had roommate roulette and I got invited. Really, that was a good idea. Do they still do it, I wonder?
Women’s Choir toured to the Pacific Northwest — I loved the long bus rides and all the crazy elections and such that went on as we cruised from church to church. I remember playing the lunch game where I traded food both for myself and on behalf of others. It was amazing what you could get for a PB&J sandwich after a few days of bologna.
Sledding on seminary hill in the middle of the night.
Borrowing milk crates for furniture.
Does anyone remember Bev standing in the bathroom in front of the mirrors every morning stretching? If you do, then you’ll know why it’s memorable.
My interim class that year was something about multi-media production. I remember doing a video production featuring soap — a brief case full of bars of soap.
This list goes on and on and this is only freshman year.
I really should have had kids so I could torture them with all of these stories. Instead, I have a blog. Lucky you.