Barlfy November 2004

The Semester From Hell; or, really, don’t violate the four F’s.


Sophomore year of college was looking like it would be a good one. I had had a relaxing summer, I had finally conquered the curse of the women’s college and had a new boyfriend, and I knew where all the campus buildings were and which professors were generous with the curve. I was living in a suite in a smaller dorm with a woman who was a) very quiet and b) very busy. She was pre-med and spent most of her time at Brigham and Women’s Hospital when she wasn’t in the library. I also had two first year suitemates who were previously unknown to me.

At first they seemed normal. A little dazed by the rigors of college, but nothing too odd. One night, some other students, my then-boyfriend and I were hanging out in my suite, drinking beer and watching movies. One of my suitemates, Leslie, came home. I offered her a beer, and, when she declined, I offered her a soda. She declined and went it to her room, and I thought nothing of it. Until two days later, when I was summoned to the Dean’s office. Apparently, I had been pressuring her to drink. She wanted me thrown out of school.

I calmly explained the situation the Dean, was let off with a warning, went back to my dorm, and told my other suitemates. As tempting as it was, we waited until she got back to the suite to start throwing her belongings in the hallway. She found another roommate, lasted a few more months, went nuts, and dropped out.

This experience served only to bond my other suitemate, Emily, and I even further. We were fast friends and spent hours hanging out with my boyfriend. Emily was seventeen and a virgin. She was also my “little sister,” a concept the college dreamed up to encourage mentoring and camaraderie between the classes. Basically, towards the middle of the semester, she and I were attached at the hip.

Halloween night, we went to a big campus party and threw back PBR after PBR. Around three, we stumble back to my dorm room. And fell in my bed. And then my ex joined us. And then…well, this isn’t Penthouse Letters. You figure it out.

I had violated the four F’s: family, first year, first time, and floor. Needless to say, the rest of the semester was strained and uncomfortable, at best. The rest of the small dorm was rife with drama, and Emily ended up dating a floor mate’s brother. She also ended up falling in love with my ex, who she caught making out with another floor mate.

At the end of the semester, I split for the largest dorm on campus and moved in with a girl who spent every weekend at Harvard with her boyfriend.

The moral of this story: don’t screw your roommate. You’re only screwing yourself.