Movin’ on up
Eileen Duffy | Friday, September 17, 2004
Three years ago, my family upgraded from a 100-year old house to a brand-new townhouse complex.
This fall I moved from one of the oldest dorms on campus, Lyons Hall to, as my former rectress called it, “the first world” – the sparkling new Welsh Family Hall.
Guess what? This time it didn’t cost a thing.
My old house contained two bedrooms and one bathroom. Do all of you out there know what it feels like to pull the shower curtain shut when you are taking a bath so another member of your family can go to the bathroom, or to “call” the bathroom on the way home from family outings, like you might call shotgun, or to hold your toothpaste spit for abnormally long amounts of time and finally run downstairs and spit it in the kitchen sink?
Well, I do. That’s why moving to a new house with three bedrooms, four bathrooms and the third floor all to myself is so much more rewarding.
That’s not to say I don’t love and miss my old house. After all, it had so much character – my new house looks the same as the other 29 connected to it. And my sisters and I will never fall asleep in such close proximity to each other again.
Living in an old dorm last year was oddly reminiscent of being in my old house.
In our basement quad I would get out of my top bunk by leaning over and grabbing my roommate’s wardrobe, which was on the opposite wall. We would change by announcing, “Don’t turn around”. When I hadn’t done my laundry in awhile, it would take up approximately one-fourth of our room. We were in such close quarters that I thank God neither of us broke parietals – it could have been a bit awkward.
Moving into Welsh Family was truly like going from Motel 6 to The Ritz Carlton. I danced around the first day as we set up our futon, which actually fit in the room, lofted our beds in two minutes flat and strained to cover that very top inch of our massive wall space.
Heck, I think Michael Jordan could stand in our room and jump without touching the ceiling.
Again, that’s not to say I don’t love Lyons. I still reminisce about curling up with three of my roommates in one twin bed to watch “Sex and the City” on a rainy afternoon, and I feel a pang in my heart when I walk under that arch.
But then I remember that they and I are paying the same fee for two strikingly different living situations. The same rate does not apply at a Motel 6 and a Ritz Carlton.
I’m not suggesting we tear down the Motel 6 – just charge its patrons less. I speak from experience, and I’m telling you, it’s only fair.