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College brings a clean slate…eventually

Posted Sep 23, 2009 by Camille Beredjick

Updated Sep 23, 2009 at 10:27 PM

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not very good at this whole “college student” thing.

I moved into my dorm here in Evanston, IL a whole eight days ago (I know, I know, we start late. Blame Northwestern’s quarter system). One week ago, my parents flew back to Tampa without me, leaving me here to fend for myself. An adult. A grown-up. A self-sufficient citizen (though one still living off her parents…so I suppose that doesn’t count). And at first thought, it doesn’t get any better than that.

Little did I know, living on your own is harder than it looks, especially in a town - nay, state - where nobody knows who you are. So while I’m enjoying the opportunities to start over, meet incredible people, embrace the tabula rasa that is my life, and all that other stuff you see in the movies, I’m also not ashamed to say it’s been a rough week.

My roommate and I are getting along famously, but she’s far more loquacious than I; when we meet people in a group setting, they tend to think I’m mute in comparison. As a mere freshman, I got the last pick in choosing my schedule, and was forced to watch the spots in my desired classes dwindle away while waiting for my assigned registration time. And this week, I put my heart and soul into six auditions for various choir groups, held on to my sole callback with all my might, and cried myself to sleep when I didn’t make the cut.

But c’est la vie, right? These experiences are necessary. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, especially in college.

However, I’ll also admit that what intimidated me most about college in my pre-move-in days was not the classes, or the auditions, or making friends. Nope; I feared the trivial, day-to-day things, like waking myself up every morning, remembering to eat right, and particularly, doing laundry. And today, I tried it for the first time.

Eight days and nights of clothing had piled up in the conveniently collapsible IKEA hamper stashed under my bed, so today, it was finally time to do the deed. I scanned my dorm’s laundry room ahead of time, seeking some kind of machine that would accept a credit card; I only had enough quarters to work a washer or a dryer, but not both.

I was thrilled to find the machine I was looking for in the corner of the little room, and dragged my ten-pound hamper down the stairs to start the dreaded task. I slid my debit card into the machine and pushed the appropriate buttons. Nothing.

The machine was completely out of service and had taken my card hostage. Expletives arose in copious quantities.

After raking my card out of the slot with a key, the grace of a ninja guiding my frustrated hand, I reluctantly fed the washer my quarters, dumped in my clothes and began a 36-minute panic. I’d found one quarter in my purse and needed three more, or I’d have to dry my clothes out the window.

Since I don’t know my dormmates well enough to beg for spare change, I settled for drastic measures and took off for the CVS down the street. I strategically bought a 99 cent eyeliner, which cost me $1.09 with tax, so that I’d receive three quarters in change when I paid with two dollar bills. I didn’t need the eyeliner. I needed those quarters. Smart move? Probably not. But you gotta do what you gotta do.

A half hour later, I transferred my wet clothing first to one dryer, which was clogged with the nickels its previous user had tried to sneakily slip into the coin slot, and then another, which worked beautifully. An hour later, I had a hamper of clean clothing. Mission accomplished.

The moral of the story is that I’m not adjusted to college life by any means. I’m still working on finding my group, I fear the freshman fifteen are knocking on my door, and to be perfectly honest, I’m writing this column instead of reading about comparative politics.

But at least my clothes are clean.