Absolutely Nothing – I am pissed, and I’m feeling needlessly dramatic. Buckle up.
A Cruel, Tragic, and Convoluted Abomination – Upperclassmen warned us. The signs were in the stars: 25 percent of freshmen live on CoRo. That’s one in four, for all you communication majors. Regardless of prior warning and expectation, nothing could have prepared the freshmen for the journey through a raging pit of hellfire and hazardously erupting lava geysers that is the Boston College housing process. Normally, the University would only reserve such damnation for those who choose to use a condom during sexual relations, but apparently freshmen deserve torment fit for the likes of Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, and Christopher Columbus alike. He killed millions of people too, you freaking idiots. Pick up a book for once. Anyway, the average BC freshman spends the majority of his or her first year developing an 8-man dream. They imagine a picturesque view of Gasson from one of the top floors in Walsh, or perhaps a luxurious residence in the cleaner Vanderslice Hall. They may relish in the idea of living with seven of their closest friends, or become excited at the prospect of having a common room to overcrowd and make groups of freshmen girls feel uncomfortable in. In any case, just about every freshman arrives at housing selection week with the hope of getting a coveted 8-man room written across their hearts. But of course, BC will do everything in its power to make sure that this wish is pulverized and spat back in the faces of many, seeing as it’s what a majority of students want. With their hopes high and their ID numbers stored in the notes of their group leader’s phone, freshmen go to sleep the night before 8-man pick day with their world suspended upon unfavorable odds and a toxic false sense of entitlement. Nonetheless, after they awake, they spend the hours prior to noon reciting prayers they learned at their Catholic middle schools but never really understood, and uttering absurd phrases that range from “I’m transferring if I don’t get an 8-man” to “If I don’t get one, I’m going to have my Dad call BC tonight. He’s a corporate lawyer, and if he can bring national health care companies to their knees, he can definitely sue the crap out of this stupid school and get me the 8-man that I obviously deserve for no apparent reason.” When picktimes are released, and campus comes to a halt for a brief moment of anticipation, the freshmen check their emails in unison, hoping to receive the good news they’d dreamed of for the last few months. For those that get picktimes, congratulations, you can be relaxed and sane for the next 96 hours or so. As for the rest of us, the real fun begins. The balls of fire begin to rain down from the sky, and students seek cover in the friendships and support systems they’ve developed all year. Their efforts are futile, however, as no relationship, no connection, no bond is safe from the destructive and awesome power that is the harsh reality of not getting blocked quads, and facing the decision to axe two or pick up one. In the ensuing scramble that resembles an overdone diner skillet of eggs, potatoes, tomatoes, and the blood and tears of privileged freshmen, few find themselves completely content and fulfilled, and many are often forced to reconsider almost the entire time they’ve spent at BC up to this point and maybe whether or not they even want to go to school here anymore. This is the crippling reality of the extremely perilous, sometimes completely deadly, housing selection process at BC that ruins morales, friendships, and lives. And at the end of it all, some still end up having to eat a whole ’nother year of Mac food. Justice save us all.
Featured Image by Meg Dolan / Heights Editor