August 20th, 2015. 12:11.
Yesterday’s move-in was a chaotic experience, to say the least. We managed to sneak in about 6 hours before my pre-determined move-in time and got everything unloaded in set up in record time. After a trip to Target, and dinner at the best Brazilian steakhouse this side of the border (whichever border you choose; it’s damn good), I bid my father and sister adieu and sat alone, a massive bundle of nerves. Shortly thereafter my evening was dedicated to two episodes of a sitcom I’ve already watched, and then it was off to bed.
It seems the school took an unforeseen hit in enrollment this semester, as the first-year dorm building seems rather sparse as far as population. Don’t get me wrong, there are still people in every room, but a lot of the rooms on my floor which are built for two seem to have only one resident. Like mine, for instance. Which is nice, since I can freely put up my ‘Keep Right’ sign on the back of my door without any fear of sniveling or triggering someone so as to force them to retreat to a ‘safe space’.
That said, I’ve only had one conversation with the person with whom I share a bathroom, and to put it bluntly, I don’t think we’ll ever speak again. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, as the only topics of conversation afforded to us would involve the one thing we have in common: our toilet. He seemed a rather … curt fellow, the kind who doesn’t look up from his phone when one is introducing themselves. To be fair, I have nothing wrong with brevity, and thus far he’s done nothing to draw my ire, so I’m perfectly content to keep our relationship confined to occasionally listening to each other poop. Unintentionally of course. These things just happen.
My floor’s RA is perfectly amicable, as well, and so far most of the floor seems to be in that state of being too nervous to really ever come out of our dorm rooms. My social interaction thus far has consisted of holding the door open for two girls who I desperately hope actually live in this building, so as not to make me an accomplice to breaking and entering, and brief conversation with a cleaning lady about the intricacies of Brita water filters. Come to think of it, that conversation was rather one-sided. I’m not sure she actually spoke English.
Best of all, the coffee maker in my room works, and I have a cabinet full of cereal, so worst comes to worst I can theoretically live in here until classes start. Hopefully that won’t be the case. I already made myself go outside three times today, and there’s a frisbee game this evening; frisbee being the one sport I actually can play. I haven’t gotten my mail yet, as doing so would force me to pass the sign proudly emblazoned with “You are in the 6th most diverse school in the nation!” One has to wonder what sort of competition is so prestigious that placing sixth is still worth telling everyone about who passes by to pick up their mail. Even the Olympics only go down to third place, and honestly, who even really cares about that? Name one Olympic bronze medalist. You can’t. But damn it, you can name what school in the US placed sixth on the national rankings of most blacks and gays.
If that’s even what’s taken into consideration. I mean, how do you place a numerical value on how much diversity your institution has? Is that in the metric system?
“Yeah, UNLV is in sixth place with 438 gigadiversirads, but we’re closing in on University of Hawaii, with 472.”
[Note: Yeah, I Googled which university UNLV was directly behind. That’s the kind of Grade-A detective work you’ll only find on this blog. Also worth noting, on the two lists I found, UNLV was either number 7, or not even in the top 50. Blatant lies? Blatant lies.]
The fact of the matter is, “diversity” means almost nothing, and if you actually chose what school to go to based on how much concentrated diversity was present in the water supply, you’re a bad person and you shouldn’t be allowed to graduate. What does it even mean? You have the most different people? So does that mean that the fewer pairs of twins are at any given school, the less diversity it has? Or are we using the old school version of diversity, where the amount of ‘privilege’ you have designates your ranking on the diverse-o-meter? For instance, me, a heterosexual white male, has practically no diversity. But let’s take Elfrey Godwyn into account, huh? She’s a transsexual lesbian polyamorous transblack fictionkin from southern Afghanistan. She wins the diversity game, simply by making up literally almost every aspect of her identity.
[Note: Elfrey Godwyn is not a real person. But if you thought for one second that she was, I’ve done my job of making you realize how crazy we’ve gotten.]
If it were my choice to make (and let’s thank God it’s not), the school wouldn’t have a big ol’ rainbow poster above the mailboxes that celebrated itself based on how many average diversirads each student had, but rather on how good their students are. What’s your graduation rate? How many go on to pursue successful careers? What are you charity programs like?
I have a dream that one day, I’ll go a school that judges its students not on the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.
Somebody said that once. I think it was Joe Biden.