These Finals Are A Piece Of Cake

, , , , , , , | Hopeless | June 3, 2018

My first year of university, my dorm floor is pretty much all first-years like myself, living alone for the first time, trying to figure out what we want to do, and desperately missing our families and friends. The very first day we move in, one girl at the far end of the hall makes it a point to ask everyone when their birthday is. We figure she’s into astrology or something, but lo and behold, whenever someone’s birthday rolls around, she has a cake or cookies ready, and leads the entire dorm floor in singing happy birthday. When we ask her about it, her response is that you don’t stop celebrating birthdays just because you’re technically a grown-up, and that we need reasons to celebrate now more than ever, now that we’re all living away from our families and stressed out by classes and trying to learn how to be adults.

As the year goes on, my dorm floor gets closer and closer. By Christmas, we’re all studying together, partying together, making exhausted Sunday brunch together, and going to each other for homework or relationship help or advice, or just to rant. The girl’s birthday is in February, and we noticed that although she bakes for everyone else, she doesn’t usually have much more than a single cookie or a bite or two of cake. One of my roommates asks her about it, and she admits that she doesn’t really like cake; she prefers fruit pie, but isn’t very good at baking it. It’s clear what we have to do.

The girl’s birthday falls right in the middle of midterms, so we are all up late studying, anyway. As soon as midnight hits, we knock on her door, wait for the, “Come in,” and the entire dorm floor files into her room, my roommate holding the cherry pie he made, lit with candles. All forty of us sing her happy birthday, and my roommate happily presents her with the pie. She is almost in tears by the end of it, and admits that she was so stressed with exams, she’d decided she wasn’t going to bother celebrating her own birthday. That won’t do, either, so we decide we’ll go out and celebrate together in a week, once midterms are done, and we stick to it.

That’s years past now, but I’m still in touch with her, and she’s still extraordinary, as a doctor and as a person, always thinking of how she can help other people. For me, though, nothing ever tops the eighteen-year-old girl trying to offer comfort and continuity to a bunch of other stressed and frightened students, and how she turned us from a bunch of strangers into a second family, and made our dorm a home!

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Ever Increasing Signs Of Lunacy

, , , , , | Learning | May 27, 2018

I live in a mixed dorm and there is a shared kitchen for the entire floor. It is near Christmas and my roommates and I bake some gingerbread men and place them out with a sign with festive messages. A roommate puts up an extra sign saying, “Eat me.”

A couple hours later, on the extra sign, someone has added a title, “Gingerbread Ladies,” and drawn a gingerbread “lady” with long hair, with an arrow pointing at her crotch.

Then comes a lot of chatter guessing which of the guys has done it. The girls are completely overlooked as possible pranksters.

Soon, a second extra sign appears saying, “Go away, dudes; we’re lesbians. Signed, [Female Student #1] and [Female Student #2]. (We’re both single.)”

Yup. That’s how those two girls decided to come out. My roommate who placed the, “Eat me,” sign was actually in on it.

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Sibling Rivalry Doesn’t Even Require Siblings To Be Present

, , , , , | Friendly | May 18, 2018

(I decide to get my Bachelor’s at the same university that my siblings went to, and I end up at the same on-campus residence. For the most part, this is fine, except for one thing: one of the residents was also at the residence with my older sister, and she keeps assuming that my sister and I like the same things, since we’re related. I keep trying to emphasize that we’re different people, but she never seems to clue in. Then, one night at dinner…)

Resident: “Hey, [My Name]! I’m putting together a volleyball team. Would you like to join?

Me: “No, thanks. I’m not interested in sports. Besides, I have the coordination of a drunk panda.”

Resident: “Really? I thought you’d love volleyball. After all, your sister played on the state team!”

Me: “All right, clearly I need to reintroduce myself.” *I lean over the table to shake her hand* “Hi! My name is [My Name]. I like horses, Doctor Who, reading, and the occasional Dungeons and Dragons campaign. You seem to have me confused with [Sister], the volleyball player, painter, and singer. However, despite the fact that we’re related… and I can’t stress this enough… WE ARE NOT THE SAME PERSON!”

(To [Resident]’s credit, from that point on, she made an effort to learn what I liked, and she got much better about not comparing me to my siblings.)

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Ensuring The Next Generation Is Just As Entitled

, , , , , , | Right | January 24, 2018

(I work at an apartment complex and have had this job for a little less than a year. A great deal of my job consists of being b****ed at by entitled parents, residents, or both. I have received a phone call from a mom who is angry because her son cannot move in until the middle of the month. All new students cannot move in until this date, but are required to pay for the full month because their leases are in a lump sum that is divided into equal payments.)

Me: “Ma’am, we cannot let your son move in early because we would still be preparing his room on that day.”

Mom: “No! This is not okay! No one told my son that! We should have the first month prorated because he can’t move in.”

(The lease he signed and the paperwork he initialed reiterate these points before a customer is done. I’m also pretty confident my student staff members reminded the customer of this.)

Me: “Ma’am, we can’t accommodate that. We don’t prorate because his rate would be more expensive each month after if we did that. His lease acts similar to a loan. We loan him the space, and we take payment in 12 equal instalments.”

Mom: “No! That doesn’t make any sense. I want to speak to a manager!”

Me: “I am a manager.”

Mom: “Then not you. Where’s your boss?”

(My boss recently stepped out for lunch.)

Me: “I’m the manager here right now, and I can assure you that you will get the same response from my boss.”

Mom: “I want the corporate number! What is that?!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Let me get that for you.”

(I give her the number.)

Mom: “What is your name? I want that, too!”

(I give her my name.)

Me: “Do you need help with anything else?”

Mom: “No!”

Me: “Okay, well, if you have any other questions, let us know. Have a good—”

Mom: “No! No! No!”

(She hung up on me. Gotta love parents and their entitled children.)

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They’re Already A Sore Loser

, , , , , , , | Friendly | December 29, 2017

(This occurs when I am in college. I enter my dorm and I am walking to my room when I pass one of my housemates. Note that I am wearing a t-shirt with the sentence, “How about a nice game of chess?” on it, a reference to the movie “WarGames.”)

Housemate: “Hey, I didn’t know you played chess!”

Me: “What?” *looks down at my shirt* “Oh, no. It’s a movie reference. You ever seen WarGames?”

Housemate: “No.”

Me: “Oh. Well, uh, okay. See ya.”

Housemate: “So, do you want to play chess with me?”

Me: “Nah, I don’t play chess. I’m terrible at it.”

Housemate: *suddenly becomes hostile* “Well, you know, you really shouldn’t be wearing that shirt if you don’t play chess! You’re giving people the wrong idea about you!” *walks into his room and slams the door*

Me: *weakly* “It’s… a movie reference?”

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