As a freshman in college, dorms are just another part of the well-rounded newbie experience. However, I didn’t expect my freshman dorms to be so small and restrictive that students spread rumors that a prison architect had designed them. Co-ed floors with rooms just big enough to fit all necessary furniture provided by the university with only a small strip of clear floor space about one foot wide and 5 feet long quickly became the new norm in my life. My floor was supervised by a senior male RA, who for some reason lived on the girls’ side of the floor and who also became my first college crush.
He was tall, older and very “chill,” as I hear people my age say nowadays. Let’s call him ‘James’ since I don’t want anyone getting mad at me for using his or her real name for any stories I write. Anyways, James was the coolest guy to me. He had an air of confidence and seemed easily approachable, which one would think made it easier to talk to him, but since I’m at my most awkward when I’m talking to cute boys, carrying a conversation with him was a real struggle.
Fast-forward through a school year’s worth of pining and awkward occurrences on my behalf, and we get to the end of the school year when everyone is moving out and the accumulation of all awkwardness with ‘James.’ I was one of the last people to move out of my floor, and it was part of his job to knock on everyone’s doors to make sure we had all left. He comes to knock on my door as I’m getting ready to go to the airport with my two large suitcases and my laptop bag that is bigger than half of my body. We say goodbye to each other and I blurt out ”C’mon give me a hug.” I cringe as I hug him, because I realize how forced the hug is since we are not actually friends.
After the strained hug, he quickly walked to the end of the hallway to go back inside his room, but is blocked by a large yellow cart that a girl who lives in the room next to him was using to move out. As he waits to be able to reach his door, I’m completely mortified as I walk down the hallway toward him to get to the elevator.
Unfortunately, thanks to my concentration on how much like a tomato I must look, I didn’t see the big mirror that was hanging up against the wall, which my suitcase hit as I turned right. I saw the mirror falling and threw my arms out to catch it. This caused both of my suitcases to fall and trip me. I skidded across the floor with my cute dress flying up and my flip-flops sliding off. Of course, the person with the front row seat to my epic fail was ‘James.’ He came over and helped me up without dying of laughter, kudos to him for that because it must’ve been really hard to do, while the only thing that could come out of my mouth due to shock and embarrassment was, “How did my shoes come off? HOW DID MY SHOES COME OFF?” This was how I ended my first year at Boston University.