Dan Grantham
Here are the 15 things I want to forget about Wooster as soon as possible. An article regarding the15 memories I want to keep a little longer is forthcoming.
1. Scholarly articles. Who knew that entry into the academic elite meant writing papers that are about as satisfying as reading a selection from a phone book. I get it, facts can be boring, but if graduating means never having to read a book like “Development as Freedom” ever again (it is a great read if you ignore the fact that some of the sentences go on for 2/3 of a page), sign me up.
2. This conversation:
Peer: “So you’ve never been abroad?”
Me: “I’ve been to Toronto…”
Peer: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE NEVER BEEN ABROAD?”
3. People who haven’t yet learned the art of breaking down boxes, which is to say, it is not an art and is not hard to do. If you can’t break down the four-by-two-foot box that once housed your new HD TV, perhaps you should take said box to the dumpster located outside your dorm.
4. What I will call the “Drug-Rug Aesthetic.” If anything in college influenced my decision to avoid psychedelic drugs, it was perhaps the design motif of covering one’s walls with Dead Head art, skulls with roses protruding from the eyes, airy textiles that make me dizzy even when sober and that Pink Floyd promotional poster of painted women’s posteriors.
5. Someone peeing out of a window and onto my body.
6. Sharing a bathroom with up to 40 other guys. This was particularly delightful when I lived in Wagner. The bathroom frequently became a barber shop, but unlike most barber shops, the cut hair never seemed to make it to the trash can. To be fair, the hair was always swept into neat little piles but air circulation and the human ability to walk meant that these piles would soon be sprinkled around the bathroom and all over my wet feet. But this bathroom experience was pleasurable compared to living next to three raging alcoholics for two years. One afternoon, I walked into my bathroom barefoot and trounced through a fresh pile of vomit. It was great!
7. Eating in a cafeteria. Having been hilariously lame in high school — I ate my lunch alone in the library every day — it would make sense that I picked a school that had only one cafeteria open for breakfast, lunch and dinner during most of my years there. As someone who is fearful of my own shadow, Lowry dining experiences provided me with endless amounts of sensory overload that now make the idea of eating by myself a most attractive alternative. I will sorely miss the convenience of a meal plan, but I really appreciate that ours came with the option to dine out.
8. Upon graduation, I can rest easy knowing that I will never be hit up to contribute to the Senior Fund. Now, I can look forward to being hit up for The Wooster Fund instead!
9. Wooster’s unique brand of rural suburbanism. I remember driving into Cleveland once after an extended period in Wooster and thinking I was in one of the world’s great metropolises. Wooster is great, but at times the town’s rural seclusion made me long for traffic and the sight of a yuppie.
10. The exquisite tension of room draw. The process, though short, is one I dreaded each year. I often worried that if the wrong person picked the wrong room, they could incite a return to the state of nature and unleash a Hobbesian war against all.
11. My little head has very little sympathy, respect really, for people of a conservative political persuasion. Considering that, I am nevertheless thrilled by the thought that I might once again have a two-sided political debate on an issue. That being said, after about ten of those, I’ll probably long for the days of the (almost) universally-held liberal ideals of my classmates.
12. Woodle and Novell.
13. Annotated bibliographies.
14. The yearly e-mail when we are told how much more college will cost in the following year. It is always more, and while this annual email often suggests that your financial aid will be adjusted to reflect this increase, someone at the Financial Aid office apparently never got that memo.
15. The sound of Wooster’s crossing signals. It always sounds like the campus is constantly being overwhelmed by an army of clowns.