Looking around, it was your average drab dorm room. It being an Ivy League school, perhaps I expected plush carpeting, diamond chandeliers, and my own personal butler; it was not the case. It seems that no matter what the school, and no matter how much money you throw away to get that lousy piece of paper, it never really changes…every school, no matter how different, is exactly the same.

The walls were gray, the ceilings white, with paper thin grey carpeting all around. The windows barely opened, perhaps a safety precaution to the inevitable drunken person that would attempt to lean out that window. The windows barely opened, but people still found ways to kill themselves that year by “mistakenly” falling out of their window from one of the top floors at Towers, or by stumbling over the railing on the roof of the frat house across the street. Arriving early in the morning on move-in day, I managed to snag the second largest room in the suite. The largest was occupied by Mike, our asian suite-mate who had a fetish for school books and microwaving chicken, since he moved in a week earlier due to his duties as campus IT. Ry and Bill got shafted even more, since their rooms were about the size of a county jail cell. The idea, as it was originally envisioned, was that the person with the largest room would switch mid-year with the person who had the smallest room. The people who had the other two rooms, likewise, would switch. In reality, this never occurred, and the end result was that most of our suite mini-parties would end up taking place in my room.

Tonight, however, four of us found ourselves in Bill’s room — the smallest room. This made sense at the time…somehow, although I could not begin to fathom what our train of thought was that night. I’m fairly certain that alcohol had something to do with it. I mean, hell, Firn was 2 cases in, and everyone else was having a good time as well. Tonight, Matt from next door wasn’t joining us; I don’t remember whether it was because he was recovering from his vodka+Mt. Dew (”Never again!”), or whether he was scared to repeat it.

“Grab the chair, Firn”, Bill egged on as I sat down on the bed next to Ryan. There really was no room in there at this point, so I figured that moving a chair would be a good idea…I said nothing. Bill points to me and says “you won’t drop it on his head”, to which Firn responded with a resounding “oh yea?”.

to be continued