A Falling Out with Moving In

Moving into a college dorm always proves to be a difficult task. Along with hauling a 3.1 cubic foot refrigerator up three flights of stairs, one must also contend with an overbearing mother and an emotionally unavailable father. Oh wait, I just confused moving in with being gay. But in this case, the emotionally unavailable father unfortunately does not show up to help and the overbearing mother unfortunately does show up to help. Beyond that, one should always be wary of the transportation service workers, who hide in the overgrown juniper bushes, waiting for the time on one's parking meter to run out.

Once one's things are in one's room, one may think that one is in the clear. However, every dorm room is a deathtrap, therein danger lies. As soon as one walks into the room, the claws must come out. To assert one's stake on the lower bunk, use every ounce of passive aggression one possesses. "Wouldn't you want to be on the top anyway since you need that extra exercise?" And to secure one's closet space, stare it down with an icy glare cold enough to reverse the fortunes of the polar bears in the melting Arctic. Anything goes when it comes to defending one's territory.

When conversing with the parents of one's roommate. Feign interest as if one will see these people more than two times in one's entire life (move in, move out). And even if one's conversations take a ridiculous turn for the worse, hold steady. If one makes a bad impression on the parents, they will know who to blame when the roommate is found stabbed to death three weeks later.

But when the conversations go something like this:

"Oh you live in __________?"

A city of approx 100,000 people.

"Then you must know _______ and _______ and _______."
"Oh they don't live there anymore but they did in 1972."
"You weren't born yet but surely you know them."
"They went to your high school!"

Oh, you mean the one that was torn down in the 90s and rebuilt ten miles away...

One can just ignore them.

After the parents have left and one is situated with one's roommate. Prepare to sit through awkward periods of lengthy silence because nobody wants to be the first to say something stupid. And after exactly six days, that's when people stop being polite and start getting real. At that point, it would be wise to avoid contracting Lyme disease because one will get slapped, avoid opening a gay boy's mail because he will call oneself a stupid bitch, avoid dipping one's snotty hand in a jar of peanut butter because everyone in America will hate oneself.

But above all, please don't forget one's pillow like I did...