One more gripe about Residence Life

STAFFWRITER

Clearly I missed the memo telling me, as well as every other Cabrini upper-classman, that I am totally unemployable. No one with any occupational status could possibly lug a person's entire life up stairs into half a room with a foot and a half of closet space. Apparently the entire campus knew, but I was left entirely in the dark, yet again. Leave it to Residence Life to degrade the entire student body in one foul think there was a meeting. e topic: how can we conceivably inconvenience as many people as possible? And the answer was simple - move in on Monday. What an enlightened and completely accommodating conclusion.

Je-in date.

Let's discuss where this left me, shall we?

Not only do both of my parents work, but they have very demanding jobs with personal days at gun point only. This leaves little hope for the student with no personal transportation, which, at the time, I was Jacking.

As the concerned co-ed, I called the office of Residence Life, hoping to be allowed to move in on Sunday, an unprecedented 24 hours before the general public. I explained my situation to the attentive ear of whoever would listen, and, to my chagrin, I was denied the necessary exception. They claimed there would be no one in the house to open the door, though there were various student athletes, ambassadors, a Resident Assistant, and a co-facilitator already residing within the Jocked house.

They suggested moving in at night, with my parents' assistance, after their regular workday. This would be optimal, except for the fact that I would be moving in at approximately 11 p.m., and I would be missing my first Monday night class.

After a bit of prodding, some pleading and a Jot of crying, I pried the car keys from the whiteknuckled hands of my people and drove myself to school Monday morning, having accomplished nothing with my diplomatic niceties over the phone.

This left poor, weak and defenseless Kelly to move hundreds of pounds of dorm room crap up a Jong driveway and a flight of stairs alone. Delightful. I especially liked when I had to carry my refrigerator upstairs; I could really feel the burn.

How, exactly, is one to establish a working relationship with a department that is so flagrantly unconcerned for the needs and responsibilities of those for whom they work?

I have a hard time believing anyone in Residence Life, save RA"s and the occasional RD, has ever set foot inside a dormitory. Clearly their pampered derrieres have never set cheek in the couches in any selected lounge. They've never flopped down expecting cushion but gotten sodomized by a steel bar. And they certainly have not taken cold showers for a week because the hot water only lasts 40 minutes and 60 girls are dirty. They would never survive an August in Woodcrest.

And where might one find refuge on a balmy summer night?

Certainly not in the room of their gracious comrade in another dorm; over-nights are frowned upon, a policy that adds insult to injury to the unfortunate freshman girls assigned to Woodcrest.

The scare tactics of last year all but beat this year's lot of RA's into submission. In some cases, they are required to sing in and out of the building during their off hours, leaving notice of where they will be and when they will return.

Since the mass firing, RA's are prone to fits of tears and rage while performing the simplest of duties. Fire inspections require stressed resident assistants to wear white gloves and all but check tile grout with a petri dish and a microscope. Refrigerators only marginally over the 2.1 cubic foot allowance are leaving rooms at an alarming rate. (Since when is a 2.1 cubic foot mini-fridge large enough for anywhere from 2 to 4 people? That size does not even hold a 2-liter bottle.)

I am bitter, though. The thought of being unemployable mingles with visions of my mounting educational debt, and, together, I can see only myself, living in a box in my parents' basement well into my 40s, all this springing from Residence Life lack of consideration, and a poorly planned movein day.