By Claire Parsons
It’s Miller Time
For the past two semesters, I have had the pleasure of living on the third floor of the and elegant Miller Hall. I have lived with the malfunctioning bathrooms, car alarms, and the craziest people I have had the privilege to meet. When I say crazy, I mean that in the nicest possible way. It’s not that the other members of my floor are dangerous or violent; it’s just that I consider many of them to be mentally unstable. Mental instability carries with it a stigma, but when a group of lunatics get together it can be a lot of fun.
First of all, let’s start with my roommate. When we aren’t trying to fake arguments without laughing or throwing things at each other, she’s usually making fun of me for not doing any work. In order to be fair, I need to disclose that I often make fun of her for working. Somehow we have gotten along rather well, not only because of the new medication I’m taking. I think she has begun to respect my position as a slacker and I have begun not to fear her strange habits such as studying.
My neighbors are the odd couple of the floor. They are different in everything but sleeping habits (meaning neither of them chooses to do so). One is a red-haired English major who has lived all of her life in Louisville and still has managed to pick up a Canadian accent. The other is pre-med and is given to, without warning, dancing and singing Broadway show tunes with a hint of a twang.
Two girls of the same name and opposite demeanor live down the hall. One is quiet, respectful, and organized. The other is loud, irreverent, and knocks on doors only as a warning of her coming and not as a request for admittance. To the right of these two live another pair whom, in order to protect their identities, I shall refer to as the Bellyflopper and the Cow-o-phile. The former is so named because of her tendency to enter a room by opening the door and falling flat on the floor. The latter is a great fan of graven images of cows.
Yet a third pair from way down the hall deserves mention as well. One is the Mr. Miyagi of making out. No, she does not lure boys to her room only to judo-chop them- instead she enjoys teaching boys how to make out. It’s her contribution to the world. Her roommate is a sweet, little, country girl who has asked me if I considered drinking half of a fifth of vodka a lot.
Last but not least are two people without roommates. One is a member of the second floor whom we have adopted as one of our own. She’s already been to two floor meetings, which is more than most others from the floor. The other is by far the weirdest girl I have ever met.
So far she’s regaled me with her tales of how she stuck a wire hanger in a light socket and answered the door masquerading as a boy.
This has been only a glimpse into my experience in Miller Hall. After a year, I still find myself amazed that such a diverse group of girls can act so uniformly in a desire to avoid work by acting like hyperactive kindergarteners.
Claire Parsons is a freshman philosophy major and a columnist
for The Cardinal. Contact: claire_parsons@
louisvillecardinal.com
