ArchBron:
It’s lively over here. You get up to use the bathroom, wave at five people coming back from a party, skirt past two TikToks in the making, and exchange Instagrams with someone at the sink. A heavy bassline pulses from behind a door, punctuated by cheers and laughter. You can breathe in the privacy of your own room. Well, you could if you had any.
During move-in, you sat on your bed while you waited for your roommate to arrive. They had texted you their time slot, and you crossed your fingers and hoped for late-night whispers and big parties and secret hideaways. Throughout Orientation, you and your roommate did everything together. You still do. Not because you try to, but because you are the exact same person. Sure, you are green and they are pink; you like bacon and they put mushrooms in their Ratty omelette; you think one gorilla will win and they bet on the hundred men. But somehow, the two of you share the same concentration, the same hobbies, the same friends. All of which would be exciting except you can’t stand the way they talk, the way they type, the way they breathe. From the way they scan a room to find you and then climb over backpacks to sit in the opposite corner, you’re pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.
Andrews/Metcalf/Miller:
At the top of the world, these dorms tower over all who draw near. The smell of fresh laundry slips out of the vents as you walk by, and you laugh from your lounges when fools try to open the dining hall’s exterior doors to no avail. But as the months draw on and the seasons change, boredom starts to seep in. The exit signs start to disappear, and even the dry noodle bowl loses its taste.
Every Saturday night, your roommate drags you down to Jo’s, pretending that they’ll actually use up their swipes. You have no idea why they’re on the 20 Weekly, but the microfridge they made you split the cost of is stuffed with so many to-go boxes and Trader Joe’s freezer meals that they would be left with at least a hundred swipes at the end of the semester even if they were on Flex 460. Chipotle containers pile up until you swear you can see the smell of beans and cheese. When you leave, you slather on perfume like it’s sunscreen. Pest control has been called multiple times, and you flinch every time something seems to move in the corner of your eye.
EmWool:
Semi-private bathrooms, direct access to the least-loved dining hall, and cinderblock prison walls—EmWool is delightful on paper and somewhat less delightful in actuality. You won’t meet anyone except your roommate and—if you’re lucky—your bathmates, but the lack of a party scene doesn’t mean it’ll be quiet. The garbage truck comes around at 7 a.m. and doubles as a fantastic alarm clock.
Even the people on the other end of the hall have heard of your roommate. Or, more accurately, they’ve heard your roommate. Earbuds and headphones are a foreign concept to them, and their brand-new JBL speaker is their best friend. It screams its existence into the world with opera, heavy metal, and every genre in between. The days are filled with endless phone calls and an out-of-tune violin struggling through Mendelssohn. At 3 a.m., you stare at the ceiling while an AI voice drones another chapter of Zumdahl and DeCoste’s Chemical Principles.
EvPol:
If you told me EvPol only appears on a full moon to those who invoke Blueno’s name, I’d believe you. After a whole year at Brown, I’ve yet to hear a single person mention EvPol, much less meet a resident.
“You currently do not have any roommates or suitemates for this term,” StarRez proclaims.
How lucky you are to get to avoid the disagreements, the drama, the disaster of a roommate. Supposedly, you could be assigned a roommate at any time, but you are not concerned. It is nothing but an empty threat, like the liability waiver at Level 99. Weeks go by, and the other mattress remains bare, a blank navy slab that waits. Yet in the deep stretches of night, you become aware. And you know. You know that they are there. They haunt you, an eerie presence that watches you from the edges of the room. A feeling you can’t shake, an invisible caress, a slight shift in the air too often and too unsettling to be the wind. Seances, incense, iconography—you try them all, and nothing changes. They linger. And the darkness watches.
JamesMead:
Welcome to the place where all the fun is! North Campus is full of anti-social loners, but at Keeney, sharing is caring and also required. Communal bathrooms, spacious lounges perfect for a party, a kitchen complete with an island to crowd around and be merry. Please put your name on your food before you leave it in the fridge. Not with a Post-It. In Sharpie. We can pretend to be respectful of each other’s property.
You filled up your Brita again and patted yourself on the back. Look at you, staying hydrated and taking care of your health! When you went through a tin of Altoids faster than usual, you chalked it up to stress. Then, you folded your laundry and couldn’t find your favorite shirt. You assumed you left it in the dryer and someone accidentally took it. You ranted to all your friends about that one.
Your roommate’s thrifted necklace looks a lot like the one you have. It’s a simple enough design—just a little blue gem on a silver chain. You swear yours was aquamarine, and theirs feels too green. Did you even bring that necklace to college? You probably left it at home.
MoChamp:
Despite its residents staying cloistered within their rooms, MoChamp is welcoming and friendly—the ground floor lounge is always propped open with a trash can, inviting any passersby to join in on a game of pool. As it is the back entrance to V-Dub, everyone already has swipe access, and residents are typically more than willing to let you upstairs if you awkwardly stand in the entrance hall for long enough. It’s so inviting, in fact, that deer also enjoy the dorm’s hospitality.
You are in a triple. A forced triple, of sorts. But Madame Carolina Petunia Fillinora Ettikins XII very respectfully stays within her part of the room, so you don’t mind her that much. When you were first introduced to Madame Carolina Petunia Fillinora Ettikins XII, you—apparently offensively (though you thought politely)—asked, “Are we allowed to have a fish in the room?” Your roommate took great offense at the implication that Madame Carolina Petunia Fillinora Ettikins XII was merely “a fish” and explained in no uncertain terms that she was an emotional support animal. You find this highly suspect, as Madame Carolina Petunia Fillinora Ettikins XII gets stashed in the closet during CC checks. Madame Carolina Petunia Fillinora Ettikins XII has a great many rules, including making your bed each morning, telling her “hello” and “goodbye” when you enter and leave the room, turning out the lights at 11:38 p.m. sharp, only drinking purified water, avoiding gold jewelry, refraining from mint toothpaste, and keeping the temperature between 22.2 and 25.5 degrees Celsius. There were four more rules, but you don’t remember what those were.
Oh, and never ever shorten her name in any way, shape, or form. Naturally.
New Pems:
They may not be the worst mazes on campus (I’m looking at you, Barbour), but with disconnected buildings, exterior staircases that turn into slides during the winter, and awkward chain link fences, they leave more than a few lost souls wandering outside. At least their funky architecture breaks up the boring rectangles that make up the rest of North Campus?
“Hey could you let me in”
You get this text three times a week, and it always appears right when you’ve finally settled in at Hazel Origin Coffee. And it’s always urgent—they’re late for class, the bus for their ski trip leaves in ten minutes, they spilled their mac and cheese all over their white dress shirt and left their Tide pen in the room, the list goes on and on. The last straw was when they dropped their key down the sink and refused to pay the lock change fee. You don’t have to lock your door every time you leave, they reasoned. Really, what’s the worst that could happen? You held your tongue when they realized someone had walked in and stolen their laptop. They cussed enough for the both of you.
