By Liz Bae
I can still remember standing in a herd of freshman at the cab stand down at the beach and looking across the street at the infamous Seagrape. I thought I would never turn 21 and that the next three years would be excruciatingly long. There I was with no beach house, no car and I was not even legal to drink. I thought seniors had the world in the palm of their hands.
The truth is, I miss being an underclassman. Even though Barone food was disgusting, it was the place to sit for hours on Sundays to rehash the weekend and avoid doing work. Snow days were ridiculously fun in the quad and all those sketchy Bridgeport bars we went to were a great time.
The parties in dorm rooms were hilarious until some oblivious kid would get too drunk and walk into the hallway with a beer. Then RAs came to take our IDs and a letter went home to our parents and we were out $50 we did not have. Even so, I’d do it again. The freshman 15? I wish I hadn’t done those, but hey, it’s inevitable. You live away from your parents and you consume more alcohol on a weekly basis than you ever knew your body was capable of and you always want greasy food after midnight.
I miss my days in Gonzaga 109, Kostka 304, and townhouse 75. Those were some damn good times even when someone spread peanut butter all over the elevator buttons in Gonzaga, or when someone poured laundry detergent all over the Kostka laundry swipe (you’ve been exposed, by the way), or even when our townhouse door got egged by our proud neighbors.
Though being a senior has great perks, like living on the beach and finally being legal, it was the three years before that shaped my true college experience and brought me my closest friends. I’m excited to be living in a beautiful beach house with my friends, but the idea that this is our last fall at college breaks my heart. Our last year seemed to come out of nowhere. I wish that we were freshmen, and that we had three more Septembers to look forward to….
Leave a Reply