Another Column About How Danielsen Hall Sucks
Today, on my second official Saturday of my official sophomore year at the very official Boston University, I took part in a college ritual detested and loathed by ritual participants almost everywhere: Laundry Day.
For those untrained in the fine art of laundering, this is a weekly event. These people come to school thinking that school will be just like home, and that they can just wash their individual items of clothing at their every whim. I'll admit I was one of these people when I first came to school, but I soon changed my wicked ways when I realized just how much money and time I would be spending in the Warren Towers Laundry Room / TV Room / Smoker's Lounge / Balcony To Nowhere. I had more important places to be, like my room, watching movies. For class. Not for fun.
These people will soon move to the next level of laundering experience, which is where I currently reside. I call this group The Group Of People In The Second Level Of Laundering Experience. These people structure their limited wardrobe and cleaning resources in order to wash their clothes in bulk about every two weeks. This is usually done on a Saturday afternoon, when the laundry rooms are full of people foolishly attempting to get some studying done while they wait for their clothes to wash and dry, respectively. This is ultimately futile, however, because most laundry rooms have washers or dryers with those little circular windows in them, and most people, present company included, are easily distracted by spinning colors.
The Die-Hard Launderers are by far the most advanced in the science of laundry. These intrepid journeymen can often go months at a time without doing laundry, usually with the aid of heavy perfume, cologne or Fabreeze. When these people do actually do their laundry, they do it under the cover of night to avoid any human contact whatsoever. Weekend nights are expendable causalities to this rare breed. If you happen to catch one of these people walking towards you when you're doing your own laundry, its probably best to just move aside and let them go about their business, much like you'd avoid a raccoon spotted in daylight. Both are rabid, and both probably have dark circles around their eyes.
So anyway, I went down to the Danielsen laundry room today for the first time. The laundry room, much like the greater portion of Danielsen Hall itself, is falling apart. This was no surprise to me. What was a surprise, however, was the relatively tiny number of washers and dryers located therein.
Maybe I'm just used to the Warren Towers Wall Of Washing, but eight dryers and five washing machines just seemed a little inconvenient to me. No, wait. That's not what was inconvenient. What was inconvenient was the fact that the room was full of people scrambling to catch the next available machine to fulfill their laundering needs. Yes, that's definitely it. Well, what was I to expect, really? It was a fine Saturday afternoon, when everyone should have been outside, and here was the laundry room, filled with people still wearing their pajamas.
The first thing I spotted was a single open washing machine. I eyed it wondrously, and then my gaze turned to the left, where I noticed a girl wearing a rather large baseball cap, wrinkled tee shirt, and pants with bunny slippers gazing at the very same machine. Instantly reading each other's minds, we both proceeded to advance toward the washing machine without looking like we were actually advancing toward the machine. The girl did this by pretending to check the time on an adjacent dryer while slowly edging her way toward the washer in question. I did this by running to the washing machine at top speed and throwing my clothes in the basin. Needless to say, I got the washer first.
With my clothes in the newly claimed washing machine, I triumphantly noted the time and triumphantly exited the laundry room to go back to my dorm for thirty-five minutes. My triumph was quickly quelled, however, as I took a wrong turn toward the stairs and ended up in some sort of bike rack room, causing me to walk by the laundry room again, where I know everyone saw me and laughed at my misfortune.
So I went back up to my room and watched the Game Show Network, thus taking advantage of the only advantage to living in Danielsen Hall, which really doesn't make up for the scripture-like list of inconveniences. But even the Game Show Network is ruined, because it turns into the horrible, horrible Christian Music Channel before the best game show to come out of the 70's comes on: Match Game. So instead of seeing a group of half-drunken, covertly hateful celebrities making jokes at each other's expense, I get to see Father Chris And His Calliope doing a soulful rendition of "Proud Mary."
OK, I never actually saw that. I wish I did, though. I just got a mental image of some stodgy priest sitting next to a circus organ doing his best Tina Turner impression. Well, I don't get to see that, but I can at least always watch the Seniors Reading Channel. Now THAT's riveting television if I ever saw it.
After numbing my mind with the television, I went back downstairs to throw my clothes in a conspicuously open dryer. I moved to the Terrier Card money-stealing machine on the wall and promptly lost $1.50, as the dryer was not working.
I waited around for fifteen minutes, watching the girl I had cut off for the washing machine smile as she loaded her clothes into a newly-opened and fully functional dryer.
Two and a half hours later I pulled my wet clothes out of two cycles in the sickliest dryer I've ever seen. Well, at least I know Boston University isn't spending any of my tuition money on laundry room maintenance. It's all for ergonomic chairs for the Student Palace - those decadent nouveau riche and their companion complementary houseplants!
I wish I lived in the Student Village.