Dorm Horrors

The Unoriginal wrote:

[Campus of Cthulhu]

I can't stop looking at that photo. I can feel my brain melting, but I can't look away.

InkWeaver wrote:

Blooferlady wrote:

One time it got so bad that I just stood outside and stared at them until they noticed me and got quiet. Then I went back inside. They shut up.

This sounds fantastically creepy, and I have the most wonderful picture in my head of tiny you being really ridiculously intimidating in this very moment.

ily bloof

Everyone fears my quiet intensity.

ily too Inky

Sutremaine wrote:

The Unoriginal wrote:

[Campus of Cthulhu]

I can't stop looking at that photo. I can feel my brain melting, but I can't look away.

Suddenly, Euclidean geometry out of fucking nowhere.

Tenda Lucas wrote:

The worst I have experienced from my college days is some vomit on the bathroom floor and a guy in the other room who left his alarm on when he wasn't there so it would wake me up and never stop ringing.

Oh God I had a roommate that did that. His stupid alarm blasted the same shitty song every single time at top volume.

Also his vomit was purple because he was drinking Chambord.

[All names changed to protect the innocent and guilty alike]

The building I was housed in my first year at my alma mater was built about 40 years ago, apparently for about $20 and a stick of gum. It was cramped, poorly ventilated, and had some pretty bad insect problems. The hallways were only wide enough to let two people through at a time... assuming they were both walking sideways. The electrical system was fucked to the point where you needed to ask your neighbors to turn off everything in their room if you wanted to make popcorn in your room or a fuse would blow. The walls were paper thin (which was awesome when you wanted to use a splitter to steal cable from your neighbor, terrible when the entire floor knew when anyone was having sex). Several rooms on the top floor were condemned multiple times in the years preceding my arrival; the entire building would be condemned five years later, and it is currently a small pile of rubble on the campus. I was stuffed into a corner room with two other freshman, who for the purpose of this post will be called "David" and "PB". We were told outright that the room was really only meant to house two people, and goddamn was it obvious. Beds were provided (one bunk + one regular), dresser drawers were built into the wall, and the only furniture any of us brought was a desk for our computers and chairs for the same. And you could still only find enough standing room for about five people. As the entire walkable part of the room. Whatever, we were all shut-ins and we received a discount on room and board as long as this situation continued so we all just figured we'd tough it out and save a few bucks.

David is one of those people where, looking back, you have to wonder why you put up with his shit for so long. This guy was certifiably nuts; his entire wardrobe consisted of long sleeve shirts and cargo pants. The cargo pants were so he could carry his Kay Bar knife ("knife" not being entirely accurate, the blade was nearly as long as my forearm) with him everywhere, and the long-sleeved shirts? Why, that was because he was really sensitive about showing off the scars from when he had carved the number 13 into his arm. The only explanation I was ever able to wrangle out of him for that one was that he wanted to remember he was thirteen years old when "all this shit" was happening to him. He seemed to have a thing with weapons: upon my return from class one day he proudly informed me that, no matter where someone was in the room or what position they were in, there was now always a knife within arm's reach; he brought a partially disassembled potato gun from home and stuffed it under the bed (he never reassembled it, but claimed it could blow through a wooden fence); and was constantly talking about other weapons he had at home but couldn't bring because they were illegal to own. I should note David's claims are highly suspect for both his obvious insanity and other reasons I won't go into right now, but I confirmed the arm-carving and knife placement things myself.

I call my other roommate PB because I don't remember his name, but do remember that he'd been playing video games for most of his life and was still awful at them. His hand-eye coordination and reaction times were so bad we joked he had the reflexes of peanut butter. Two months in and I already knew he was going to be part of the freshman attrition rate; I had never seen him leave for class, only for meals. He spent most of his time on Newgrounds or Napster (to give you an idea of the time this was all happening in). Speaking of Napster, he was one of those people who could say "information wants to be free" with a straight face. He also left his playlist blaring at all hours, and I swear he only had about eight songs total on the damn thing.

My second year I was placed into New Hall (no really, it had just been completed a few months previous and hadn't been named yet so everyone just called it "New Hall"), with its nice, spacious rooms and working heat! I took another spin on the Roommate Roulette (note that "Roommate" has the same number of syllables as "Russian"), figuring that whoever I ended up with couldn't possibly be as bad as my previous roommates. I got... Flop.

*BLAM*

I call him Flop because his major was Flight Operations (among other things, the college I went to trained pilots). Now, the first thing to understand about Flop is that he was a compulsive liar. He claimed to be trained in the art of ninjitsu, and as evidence presented a how-to book on martial arts techniques and tried to suck in his beer gut. Among other whoppers, his father was an admiral (note: I did not graduate from West Point), and he was gangraped by the entire cheerleading squad of his Catholic high school. He was also my gateway into discovering just how fucking scary the Flight Ops guys were. I have never before or since seen such a hivemind at work. Every one of them had not just a calender of airplanes, not just posters of airplanes, but posters of airplane cockpits on their walls where most men would put pictures of half-naked models. All of them watched Top Gun at least once a week, and to this day I cringe whenever I hear "Highway to the Danger Zone". He also watched Legally Blonde at least once a week, but I think that was particular to him. He was unpleasant to be around, but I don't have any good incidents I can point to and say, "This. This is why I hate him." Besides, he let me read his book of "ninja secrets", handy to have that knowledge as a conversation piece if nothing else. "Monkey Steals the Peach", indeed.

I do have further stories with this cast of characters if you're all interested. In no particular order they are The Merry Adventurers of David Leibowitz, Rise and Shine, Soldier, How DC++ Can Ruin Your Life, and That Fat Fuck.

Oh my god. MOAR!

TheHermit wrote:

his father was an admiral, and he was gangraped by the entire cheerleading squad of his Catholic high school.

...all we know is, he's called The Stig.

May I second the request for MOAR?

Reepicheep-chan wrote:

Tenda Lucas wrote:

The worst I have experienced from my college days is some vomit on the bathroom floor and a guy in the other room who left his alarm on when he wasn't there so it would wake me up and never stop ringing.

Oh God I had a roommate that did that. His stupid alarm blasted the same shitty song every single time at top volume.

My roommate did that once before I got a new one at Sheppard. We weren't allowed to have cell phones in school, but he used his for his alarm. He got moved to midshift, and I got an hour or two of sleep before his cell phone alarm went off with a vengeance.

It was inside his wall locker.

Ok, so...

I walked into the bathroom this morning to find it looking like a murder had just taken place. Blood everywhere, splattered through half the showers and in half the sinks with a trail leading its way down the hall to some room on the opposite side of the floor. I was not inclined to follow it and instead threw some non-PJ pants on and bee-lined it for the housing office to get them to clean up this horrible mess and opted to go upstairs to the next floor for my shower and general daily hygiene.

I have two theories. Either someone was, in fact, horribly murdered or someone was really not happy about discovering it was that time of the month and went batshit. I really don't know. And I really don't want to know.

Kitbug wrote:

I really don't want to know.

I do.

Ask, and ye shall receive. Alright kiddies, today's story is:

How DC++* Can Ruin Your Life

[confession]An intranet P2P network is involved with the events of this story; I do not remember if it was DC++ specifically. I use that name because we did have a DC++ server on campus while I was living there, but we might have been using a different network at the time and I just forgot about it. This is to head off any possible complaints about how DC++ actually works vs. the way it is depicted in the story or if it had not been released yet in the time frame during which this story takes place. Everything else? Yes, I'm very sure this is the way it went down. I'm just not confident about that one detail.[/confession]

The CS majors at our school set up a DC++ server on campus (internal only, the external server got shut down hard when it decided to hand out IP addresses without the input of the DNS server) to trade music, videos, games, and what-have-you with each other. Now, a lot of people allowed it to share the My Documents folder, meaning most programs would dump their files to the DC++ server as soon as you created them. This was handy if you wanted to, say, download the crack of a cool game from the internet and start spreading it immediately. This was really bad if you were downloading horse porn or something and didn't remember to reroute it to another directory. This is how shit like "Night Shift Nurses" or the infamous video known only as "Eels" ended up propagating throughout the campus. Fortunately, this story doesn't involve me delving into the dark horrors of the internet. Just the minor stupid of the internet.

Flop wanted to fly, though not just because he had a love of planes. According to him, one of his male ancestors had always volunteered for military service for every major US conflict. His only brother was ineligible to join the military, so if a war broke out (and at this point in time it didn't take a genius to figure out Iraq was going to get the shit freed out of it) he would be obligated to join the service. He didn't want to be a ground-pounder, he'd rather have been a fighter pilot. So his plan was to get his pilot's license and sign up for the Air Force. Hey, beats walking around the desert like a giant target.

Anyway, Flop's computer mastery wasn't the greatest; he just let DC++ share the My Documents folder because he didn't realize you could tell it not to. He used his webcam to record a video of himself lip-syncing and headbanging to "Enter Sandman", ostensibly for his friends at home. It was pretty silly, mostly him staring wild-eyed into the camera and thrashing about. This got dumped directly into the My Documents folder, so you can guess what happened from there. The two of us only learned it happened when a couple of my friends saw me in the background of the video happily typing away on my computer, and questioned how I could be so oblivious. The uninteresting answer is that Flop asked me to not look over to where he was, because it would look very stupid if his roommate suddenly mugged the camera during his "performance". Well, more stupid than it already was. I didn't hear anything else about the video until the next year, when I learned he had been barred from pursuing his Flight Operations degree any further.

See, Flop had gotten into a bare knuckle brawl at some point, and combined with the whole "compulsive liar" thing he was being subjected to a psychological evaluation. It turns out that most flight instructors take a dim view of trusting a maniac behind the cockpit controls. Add on the heightened security for pilots in the wake of 9/11 and they weren't taking any chances. So what should the investigators find but an .avi file depicting the already-of-questionable-sanity Flop freaking out to heavy metal?

It wasn't the biggest straw, but it was the last one. They clipped his wings for good, and soon after he dropped out. I never heard what happened to him after that, though the chances of a happy ending for him after that were awfully slim.

Kitbug wrote:

bloooood

Really, really bad nosebleed?


Please?

Kitbug wrote:

bloooooood

Saw something like that in boarding school. Twice. Someone cut their leg in the shower while shaving, then cut their hand when they flinched. Tried to clean their hand in the sink, tried to clean their leg in another shower, then walked of to their room to sulk.

Still better than my psycho roommate who used to put half eaten apples on my bed. She purposely bought apples that were half green and half red and ate only the green half. Yeah. Unlike Snowwhite, I didn't fall for that trick.

The last one wasn't a real "horror story" (unless you count getting booted out of flight college based on some no-tolerance bullshit to be a horror story), so I have a more traditional horror story for you today.

Rise and Shine, Soldier

I mentioned before that, in my first dorm room, none of us had any extraneous furniture. Actually, this wasn't entirely true. David was a man who really enjoyed his music, and absolutely needed a huge bass sound. So he supplemented his tiny computer speakers with a five foot tall subwoofer. This monster took up about two people's worth of room, and the bass was so huge people on the top floor could feel it. We commonly joked that this thing, if you knocked it over and started playing Barry Manilow, could cause the entire building to collapse. I tell you this because it is relevant to the story.

So, it's currently 6:00 AM. I'm asleep, PB is asleep, David's still awake. Problem is, David has to be up at 8 to make it to class. He didn't go to sleep last night either, so pulling an all-nighter is not an option. He needs sleep, however little he can manage. However, he is a pretty heavy sleeper; I had personally seen his get out of bed, walk to his alarm clock on the opposite end of the room, turn it off, walk all the way back, and get back under the covers, all without waking up. Compound this with the fact that, a few weeks previous, I unplugged his alarm clock when it woke me up and I couldn't find the snooze button, and he realizes he needs a seriously powerful wakeup call.

Fast forward to eight in the morning. I'm fast asleep, probably dreaming about some retarded anime shit since that's all I did back then. You can imagine, then, my surprise at being awoken by what sounded like an entire bandolier of grenades exploding in the middle of the room.

BWAAAAAAAAMssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhh
BWAAAAAAAAMssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhh

The motherfucker had set his computer to play the sound effect of an Arctic sniper rifle from CS firing on endless repeat at 8 in the morning, at max volume. If you've never played Counterstrike, or perhaps don't remember, the sound it makes is very distinctive and also incredibly loud relative to anything else in the game. As mentioned earlier, the walls of the dorm were extremely thin, so this sound reverberated throughout the entire dorm. I wasn't sure because I was still kinda foggy, but I could have sworn I heard the windows shake. "We're under attack" probably ranks as one of the worst thoughts to wake up to.

At least it succeeded beautifully at waking David up. The sound only managed to play five times before he turned it off.

Oh god, Hermit, brb dying of laughter.

That's so fucking awful but so fucking funny at the same time. THIS IS WHAT I WANTED IN THIS THREAD

TheHermit wrote:

The motherfucker had set his computer to play the sound effect of an Arctic sniper rifle from CS firing on endless repeat at 8 in the morning, at max volume.

HAHAHA YOUR NEIGHBOR WAS AN AWP WHORE AND YOU GOT PWNED

Heh, would probably cause my neighbor who was in the Army to dive onto his floor screaming "SHIT WE'RE BEING BOMBED GET DOWN!" Would suck to have all that bass pounding through my apartment's walls, would probably blow out the windows.

Okay, not a dorm, but I have a few stories I could share.

During my one-year stage in Cambridge, I was hosted in a house managed by some charity or other providing cheap rooms for foreign students. It wasn't half bad: I had one fridge shelf, one freezer drawer and one kitchen cupboard all by myself, there was a bathroom on every floor, the house was facing the Cam and within spitting distance of the colleges.

The room was a typical English living room, albeit halfway underground (I had some minor mold problems) and divided lengthwise by a drywall.

The first guy who came to stay on the other side of the drywall was a Chinese guy. He spent the first night emptying his luggage, but not like you and me would: he opened the zippers all the way, PWWWWWW, then pulled out his stuff, then shut the zippers, PWWWWWWWW, then opened the drawers, KRRRRT, then shut the drawers, KRRRRRTHUMP!, then he opened the zippers, PWWWWWW, and the fun began again.
At 2:00 I started getting angry and knocked on the drywall once.
At 2:30 I was banging on the drywall like a blacksmith.
Next morning he told me in China it's considered impolite to bang on the walls and I should have knocked at his door and told him if I had any objections to what he was doing.
He also spittled - but spittling is an euphemism for the sounds he produced. Through the drywall I could hear the catarrhal concert in high fidelity: it started with a low diaphragmatic rumble which gained volume and pitch as the mucous mass raised along his airways, culminating with a sincopated crescendo in a final cathartic explosion of expectorate. Then a faint 'phup' signalled the demise of the bolum (I don't know and don't want to know where he spat: we had no sinks in the rooms).
When he moved to the third floor I got drunk (at the Graduate, since alcohol was banned in the house) but I didn't know what was coming...
The Serbian girl was quite nice, but she would sleep through an atomic bombing. Her alarm clock went out at 6:30, and we quickly reached an agreement that when I heard it I would beat on the drywall until she woke up and silenced the fucked thing - then she would go to take a shower and I would sleep another hour.
She also had nigthmares. The exterior manifestation of said nightmares was a lot of screaming in Serbian. Mostly were inarticulate screams, but I managed to learn quite some swearing too. After a while I was able to sleep through them, but when she moved (nobody liked to be in the cellar beside me, apparently) she was directly above the tenants' room, and one night they broke into her room with a 2x4 because they were sure someone was attacking her...

First day at my dorm I learned that the girl who was in my room before somehow managed to piss off half the dorm. Many of those people threatened to kill her. I am know sleeping with my own (illegal) knife just in reach of my hand in case someone didn’t get the news that she’s moved out.

I also got to spend TWO FUCKING WEEKS trying to clean the toilet of all it’s mold. Lovely black mold that I’m still bleaching. Along with getting on my hands and knees to scrub the floor. Apparently it’s a white, not a blueish color.

Other then that I seem to be pretty lucky. The people above us stomp around but I’ve fallen out of my bed more then once so I shouldn’t be complaining about it.

TheHermit: HEY NO ONE TOLD YOU TO STOP

Anyway, this is more of a trip horror than a dorm horror, but it bears telling. In October of last year, I went on a weekend trip with a bunch of kids in the Honor Students group to Montreal. Driving from upstate NY to Montreal can be a bit jarring, as there are a lot less lines on the road on the Canadian side, and cars can basically appear out of nowhere right next to you. Our car (there were about 15 of us total on the trip, so we split transportation duties ~5 students to a car) nearly got run down by a huge fuck-off truck, prompting our driver to shout out "HOLY CRAP OPTIMUS PRIME TRIED TO RUN US OVER!" at the top of her lungs.

I tell you that because she ended up re-enacting that whole story when we arrived at the hotel, and we all shared a hearty laugh about it. Well, almost all of us, that is. Out of the corner, I hear what sounds like a reedy, asthmatic Torgo, grunting something that sounds roughly like:

"duhr huhrrrr huh OPTIMUS PRIIIIIME huhrrrr"

Now, I have met very, very few Transformers fanboys in my time that weren't completely insane, so this set off my alarms rather instantaneously. I turned around and they nearly exploded. Our new ghost satyr friend was "Scott", and boy did he look like a dictionary definition of an Internet Aspie if I've ever seen one. It smells like Funyuns just thinking about him.

Long story short, we go our seperate ways to do whatever in the city, I narrowly end up being paired up with Scott as my tour buddy, and I spend a few hours getting lost downtown and manage to make my way back.

The bad news: Scott, unbeknownst to me, has been made my roomate for the night.

The good news: Scott is in the study, and doesn't look like he'll be making much trouble.

The worse news: Scott has actually locked himself in the study and is having a goddamn meltdown. Imagine a drunk, fifteen-year old Chris-chan angrily masturbating to Hockey Night In Canada and you've got a basic idea of the fucking inhuman wail emanating from that room. By this point, I'm pretty tired out, don't know where the other people on the trip are staying in the building, and know better not to interfere in someone's existential crisis, so I plop down on the bed, put the iPod on, and try to do some reading for my classes. I get fed up after hearing Scott bash the wall and defiantly shout "FUCK YOU ALL YOU BITCH" repeatedly for the better part of half an hour, though, and left to walk around the city some more and see if it'd all make sense when I came back. It didn't, but Scott had apparently tired himself out and I was able to get some rest.

Scott quickly found out the next morning that not only had he put a serious dent in the hotel wall with an umbrella, but that nearly everyone else was able to hear his hissy-fit clear as day. Seeing that he effectively shot any chance of his getting a date of any sort in the next three years, he tried to spin it to make himself look cool ("Yeah, I went into a psychotic rage."), but it was no use.

And the reason for his implosion? He called one of the driver girls' personal number because he was lost and she didn't answer within the hour. Well, it was obstensibly because they didn't all come up for his room for a giant horforgy, but I digress.

The trip was cool in every other respect, though (why hello there store that carries the vinyl GY!BE album I've wanted for ages), and Scott seems to have left the Honors Program this semester, so at least there's that.

Ugh at the blood story. My wife has a story similar to that one, but I'd have to grill her for details before sharing it. Not to mention thinking up a snappy title. Speaking of snappy titles, here we have:

The Merry Adventures of David Leibowitz

At one point, David and I were discussing our respective heritages. For the curious, I'm Irish/French-Canadian (talk about your easy targets). David was equal parts Irish, Scottish, German, and Russian. He claimed that this wide variety of nationalities stereotyped as heavy drinkers made his alcohol tolerance legendarily high and that it was nearly impossible to get him drunk. This is the most outrageous lie I've ever been told, and I've got FSTDT bookmarked. In reality what he inherited was not tolerance, but dependence. Now that we've established he was hitting the bottle pretty hard, I can tell you what became his greatest legend.

He'd gone up to the room of a few friends, spent hours drinking hard liquor, and was then loosed upon the world. His first stop was the construction equipment; New Hall was nearly finished by this point, but construction on Newer Hall had just begun. He was disappointed to discover the keys had not been left in the ignition, but decided to just chill out in the seat and wait for a security guard to find him. Which they did. He somehow managed to convince the guy he wasn't drunk, so off he went with a warning and well-wishes.

David thought a walk would sober him up a little, so off he walked. He would have been better off if he had not walked in the direction of the Flight Center. He would have been a lot better off if he hadn't decided that he really needed to take a piss right now and the Flight Center's bathrooms were pretty nice. The Flight Center late at night was what could be called a "honeypot"; the doors were left unlocked, but motion sensors were active and waiting for some drunk asshole to stumble his way into their field of vision so they could blare an alarm. Which they did. Realizing he'd probably be in trouble if he got lectured by security twice in an hour, he decided to flee the scene.

Unfortunately for David, he fled in the direction of the airfield. This was before 9/11 and the airport was relatively small, so security was pretty much a chain link fence. In other words, no real deterrent to a troublemaker with more athleticism than sense. So up he goes over the fence, when he suddenly realized that he'd never been in the cockpit of a Cesna before. What a perfect opportunity to rectify this! Unlike the construction equipment these planes were locked, but David decided that shouldn't be too much of a problem for him and tried to force it open. Now, as you might guess, the Flight Center was awfully close to the airfield and security was currently investigating that blaring alarm. Though it was easy enough to get into the place, even late at night the airfield was well-lit and a majority of the Cesnas were stored under the open air so it would be quite easy for security to notice somebody trying to break into one of the planes. Which they did.

So now David's in really deep shit. Two security guards confronted him this time, and at this point they didn't care whether he was drunk or not. Just in case you were wondering whether David had sobered up yet, he decided to go into full blown fight-or-flight response and take a swing at security. Big mistake; they put him down hard and search him, finding not only the pocketknife but the Kay Bar as well. They confiscated the weapons and explained he can pick them up at the security office the next morning. Feeling naked without his weapons, he finally trudged home and managed to tell me most of the story before passing out. (he left out the part about trying to haymaker the security guard, I learned that part later from the guard himself)

There is an epilogue to this tale, but it's kind of a downer so don't click below if you'd rather this story ended on a happy note.

Spoiler:

For those who skipped the spoiler, this is chronologically the last David story I have; he left the college and never returned. Which brings me to why I classified this as a horror story:

After this incident, we couldn't get the discount for having three people in a double anymore.

This thread is making me horrified and hysterical.

I will interrogate my friends for stories like this.

Mental Note: Tell the Your Personal Problems are My Hilarity series of stories later. For now,

TheHermit (Dis)Likes to Watch

Late in my freshman year, after the point David left, PB's girlfriend decided to come down to spend a weekend at the dorm. I was a little surprised by this development, given that he mentioned his girlfriend only slightly less often than he offered to show me porn starring one of his relatives (nearly always phrased as "Wanna see the pictures of my cousin that got her disowned from the family?"). This did give me a bit of confidence, as if the douchenozzle I roomed with in my first college and a reprobate like PB could get girlfriends I would have little trouble if I put my mind to it. After about five minutes of conversation with her I theorized she was one of the dullest people I had ever met in my life and decided to basically ignore her for the rest of her visit.

That night I returned from a friend's room to discover a sock on the doorknob. Well, that was more of a warning than my roommate at my first college gave me. Besides, that's the kind of shit a boyfriend and girlfriend do when you leave them in a room alone. I just decide to head on back to the friend's room to watch Seven Samurai while I waited for them to wrap it up. By the time the movie was finished, PB was just getting around to taking the sock off the doorknob. His girlfriend was in his bed sitting against the edge of the wall, with an expression somewhere between and . Yes yes, it's obvious you two were fucking, whatever. I hurriedly steer the concept away from being locked out of the room, and before long we're all getting ready for bed. Me on my bed, the two of them on his.

The next morning I wake up to the sound of... what the hell is that sound, actually? It was a blend of sounds, I came to realize; a seal clapping, the sound of a desk getting pushed back and forth, the groans of a mattress as it resisted people jumping on it... those are what they sounded like, anyway. The truth was far worse, but with my sleep-addled brain I wasn't able to put the sounds together into a coherent picture until I heard a woman softly whispering,

"... Mmmmmmmmmm..."

It was at this point that realization dawned on me. Oh holy shit you've gotta be kidding me. I thought for a moment it was still quite late at night, and they thought as long as they were quiet they wouldn't wake me up. I barely opened one eye, never before as thankful for nearsightedness as I was then. The alarm clock showed 11:23. And there was daylight outside.

"... Aaaaaaaaahhhnnnnnn..."

Allow me to present to you the sum total of all my thought processes occupying the next few minutes:
[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

It took them about fifteen more minutes to finish and the whole time I was curled up on my bed, not daring to make a move or a sound and make the moment even more awkward than it already was. When his girlfriend left to "freshen up" I made it clear to him that I had been awake and he was a total shitstain for doing that to me. I had trouble looking PB in the eye for the last month or two before the semester ended. The worst part is, even after she learned she hadn't gotten away with anything, she still walked around for the rest of her visit with the + expression, almost as if she were bragging about having sex. She even propositioned me later when PB wasn't around. I let her down about as politely as I tell people on this board I disagree with them.

I've never lived in a dorm, but I have been to several highschool dorms, though the most I've stayed in one was for a week.

In... seventh grade, I think it was? We had this two-day field trip. We ended up in a medium-sized town (I'm talking medium-sized by Romanian standards, so it was a village with a fancy pedigree, pretty much) where we were put up for the night at a local highschool's dorm.

There were twelve beds in the room, but calling them beds was perhaps a bit generous. They had more in common with large bowls, in that they were wooden and very deep in the middle. The floor was dirt-encrusted and the door had a large hole in it, so I had stay and keep it covered while my classmates changed clothes, because the boys kept trying to sneak peeks. One of the windows was broken and didn't close at all, though thankfully it was late spring/summer, so it was only slightly chillier than daytime.

And the best part was that, if one were to poke one's head out the window and look at the right, they would see a large cemetary. And were they to look at the left, they would see (what we later found out was) a detox clinic*. And you know what? The detox clinic looked WAAAY nicer than the dorm and all my classmates agreed that we would rather have slept there for the night. I left that place pitying the poor schmucks who couldn't get in a better highschool (or at least one closer to home) and had to live there roughly 8 months a year.

*I'm still convinced that the proximity between the clinic and the cemetary was no coincidence.

I live in a single now, which is AMAZING, but my roommate last year really wasn't bad at all, aside from occasionally having drunk friends over when I needed to study. But my hallmates were a bit of a different story last year. You see, I am an East Asian Studies major. This means I am in a fairly intensive Chinese language track. This meant that last year I had an 8:30 AM Mandarin lecture on Fridays. And of course, one frat had a weekly event called Thirsty Thursdays. And my room was right next to a small common area where people would gather to loudly yell about how "SOOOOOO WASTED" they were, and then have extremely oversharing, drama-filled, sobbing phone conversations. Right outside my door. Here was a typical Thursday night for me:

Me: *about to finally fall asleep after working my ass off on Mandarin homework*
Drunk Hallmate: HAI GUISE I AM SOOOOOO WASTED THIRSTY THURSDAAAAAAAYYYYYS
Other Drunk Hallmate: COLLEGE IS SOOOOO FUN GUISE OMG SOOOO DRUNK
Yet Another Drunk Hallmate: OH MY GOD RYAN I DIDN'T HOOK UP WITH HIM OH MY GAAAAWWWWDDD YOU ARE SO ANNOYING I HATE YOU OH NO ACTUALLY I LOVE YOU BUT I ALSO LOVE THIS OTHER GUY AND ;aka;dskfnsal;fhweofisdl;fjdos;fksa;
Me: *Rage*