Freed from the confines of dorms into the world of air-conditioned bedrooms, I am fortunate enough to spend my second year of college in an apartment. Let me just say, it’s fantastic. I have a couch and an oven. I have a bed I am not in danger of falling off of on a nightly basis. It is my castle, and I consider myself very fortunate to reside within it.
But some problems have followed me from dorms. Instead of the ROTC students chanting on their runs, rousing me early in the morning, I hear the train outside my window. In lieu of my former hallmates’ Nintendo 64 competitions keeping me awake at night, Corner bars continually tempt me to the tune of “one extra night out never hurt anyone.”
By far, the most challenging obstacle of living off-Grounds is walking to class. Living off-Grounds offers a whole new list of temptations and barriers to keep me from getting my education.
Let me take you on my walk.
I can no longer can roll out of bed five or 10 minutes before my first class and stroll in right on time. Blessed with a short walk across the street to the Chemistry building last year, I continually pushed the limit on how late I could wake up and still make it on time.
Things change when the walk grows longer. Incentives to stay in bed — my warm, soft bed — mount. Miraculously, I am able to roll off my mattress, stumble into the shower and drag myself out the door.
Minutes into my journey, I cross my first obstacle. A multi-ton, steel-laden machine races along the train-tracks, imploring me to turn around and head back to bed. Steadfast on learning, however, I push onward, foregoing the shortcut.
Unfortunately, the long walk comes not only with more time, but also with more temptations. The breakfast menus at White Spot, Littlejohn’s, Dunkin’ Donuts and Bodo’s — the holy temple itself — beckon. Glancing at my watch, I continue to walk, one foot in front of the other, back bent under the weight of my books as my eyes flick over this morning’s Yik Yak feed.
Walking down McCormick, the situation becomes dangerous. I force a smile and a “How are you?” at those peers whose eyes I failed to avert. Even more dangerous are the hell-bent bikers of Charlottesville. Flying by with little regard for their own safety or the safety of others, they narrowly speed past pedestrians as I focus on avoiding their path. I curse them under my breath, secretly envying their shortened commute.
Finally, as I pass the Amphitheatre, my destination lies in sight. I’m on time and all I have to do is cross the Lawn. To my horror, though, I see rows of tables on the pathway in between the Amphitheatre and New Cabell. Tables and tables and tables asking if I want to stop AIDS or end world hunger. Yet I remain strong and walk straight by them, eyes focused on my destination.
Alas, I arrive. I enter the building, hurry down the hallway and finally let out a breath of relaxation as I prepare to walk in. Opening the door, I look at my fellow classmates only to see the most infuriating thing of my journey thus far: someone sitting in my seat. College is hard.
Aidan’s column runs biweekly Fridays. He can be reached at a.cochrane@cavalierdaily.com.
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