As August pulls up on us real sneaky, many of us are preparing to start or return to our respective universities so I’m dedicating my August posts to Back to School activities and preparations. Thinking about the dreaded move in and settling in process, I remember my first day of college, moving into the dorm. I took so many L’s in the name of zeal and awkward blackgirlness.
Move in starts at 8am. I lived about an hour away, without traffic. There wasn’t gonna be any traffic because ain’t no traffic going East bound on the Long Island Expressway at 7am. But even still, my dad is THE KING of being prepared to be early. I kid you tf not, if he has a 7am flight, my man has already gone through TSA and is looking for breakfast to accompany his bible reading at 3:15 am. It doesn’t matter how domestic his flight is, this is his law. So, it’s not hard to understand why all my stuff and my family members were packed into his van at like 6:15 am. Outside, the sky is all blue gray and I’m pretty sure nobody ate breakfast.
Like the nerd I am at this point, I show up with my stuff and my people at freaking 7am. Housing staff and welcome wagon volunteers are looking at us like:
Lucky for us they started letting us in slightly earlier than 8am, but still. Tragic. I take another L when we’re informed that the building’s elevator does not work and I DO, in fact, live on the 3rd floor. Poor volunteer welcome wagon staff (plus my dad and brother) lugging my bins and other miscellaneous stuff I didn’t want to part with up to the 3rd floor and down a hallway while I pretty much watched on and pretended to be fragile.
Taking more L’s, Roommate assignment:
This is a suite style dorm, so there is a common area, bathroom, and two bedrooms with two beds each. My bedroom is shared with the RA. Every member of my family is laughing at me and this was NAWT funny to me for one main reason. I’ve mentioned previously on my blog that I started college at 16. Within my acceptance letter I was told that because I wouldn’t be 18 by the end of my first year, I pretty much wouldn’t be offered housing. My mama called up the number on that letter with her good corporate voice and ultimately it was decided that I could reside on campus after signing my life away on a notarized letter. Now here I was months later with my mom, dad, and little brother cracking up at the fact that the University basically “gave Patrice a baby sitter”. Despite my obnoxiously early arrival at the university, I couldn’t get dibs on my side of the room as homegirl had already been there for a week. Another L graciously taken.
When you spot kinfolk, don’t be like me:
My university was what HigherEd likes to call “diverse” simply because you can potentially find some of everybody on campus. However, finding black people in my building was not turning up the results I was looking for. And then I spotted her. (I still love her even if she reads this and wants to kill me) But there she was, good beauty supply store ponytail, black mama, strolling into the dorm after 3pm to move in, even though technically we were supposed to be preparing for phase 2 of move in day already. My parents had been left me and here she was just touching down. Yes, I smelled kinfolk. In my excitement and awkwardness, I don’t even think I properly greeted them. I kinda blurted down the staircase inquiring about what room she was moving into, hoping the university was grouping the black girls together and kinfolk would be moving in with me. She wasn’t. But my awkward introduction later paid off when we both walked into my Intro to Africana Studies class on the 1st day, class buddy was already locked in. 7 years later, she’s one of my bestest friends ever.
(I met my other best friend in a hilarious story where she was totally turned off by me and my apathy. As fate would have it, we kept crossing paths and were eventually stuck with each other. Another story for another time)
If my undergrad story was a book, move-in day was an ill foreshadowing. I was destined to be a HAWT mess.