In college, I lived all over East Campus in Columbia:
- Sophomore Year: 1323 Anthony Street Apt. A, B & C
Statistics: 11 guys, one house, three floors and a dog—a Boxer named Anfernee.
Highlights include: Throwing bottle rockets under the bathroom door while someone was taking a dump, the summer Seth Putnam came to live with us from the wretched JBU, and having the bright idea of creating an “Orphanage” where we put two bunk beds and a single bed, totaling five people in the one room with AC over the summer.
- Junior Year at 1403 University Avenue Apt B
Statistics: 2.5 guys, one floor and a big-ass porch.
Highlights include: Killing a blood-sucking bat with a wiffle bat, drinking beer each M/W/F before my 19th Century American Women’s Poetry taught by an Emily Dickinson scholar, and my roommate assuring me that vodka would heal a rash.
- Senior Year at 516 S. William Apt A & B
Statistics: Five guys, one house and an attic.
Highlights include: Dance parties with strobe lights, chain-smoking on the porch into the wee hours of the night while working on my senior thesis, and deciding that I
neverwanted to leave East Campus to graduate.
When you’re moving around from house to house and roommate to roommate, your clothing, accessories and belongings all get mixed up, thrown away or just generally disappear. But if you’re lucky, your roommates will just give you things when they are moving out. That’s what happened with the briefcase.
Well, I used it.
And I did use it for a job interview.
And that job, I was offered.
And that job offer, I accepted.