We like to stay pretty competitive here at The Thrill, and a Blog Off is one way we can definitively prove that one of us is objectively a better blogger (dare we say, a better person). So we leave it to you, the reader, to decide in a blind taste test who is really better as we square off on various topics. This time around, we have Yasmin Nesbat ’18 and Shayne Wagner ’18, two first-years battling it out RE: The Housing Lottery. Who will come out on top? Only you can decide.
Okay this is going to sound dumb (yeah, yeah same old shit), but I don’t really get the housing lottery. If you think about it, people don’t actually talk about it that much. They just say “housing lottery,” and then the entire conversation fades for about ten seconds as everyone stares out into space out of fear.
I guess it’s the ambiguity or taboo notion of the process, but the whole situation sounds like a bad dream. I’ve heard horror stories about people making last minute changes and losing promises made weeks in advance. It’s a dog-eat dog-world, and it makes me feverish. It sounds like a jungle, and from the looks of it, it’s one I’m not really interested in entering. The day that the numbers came out, I had my expectations low. Luck was never a very close friend of mine, so I expected I’d be at the very, very bottom (which I’ve been meaning to ask, isn’t everyone in the incoming sophomore class in the very bottom? Aren’t we all going to end up living in a Mather triple?)*
When I got the email, I was pleasantly surprised with #978, aka #89 in the sophomore class. But then again, does that even mean anything? Aren’t we supposed to be the bottom of the food chain? Why does anyone think they can actually live South. Even with a fairly good number, I’m pretty jaded about the whole shindig. See you in Caples, nerds.
*This is my point- no one answers my questions they just pretend I said something else like The Darjeeling Limited or Shailene Woodley’s disingenuine feminism.
My lottery number is, in a word, gross. It’s not not worth throwing a tantrum or screaming bloody murder. At least that’s what I’m telling myself as I cry-read through The Google Doc (You Know The One), searching for some sign of hope, something to reassure myself that next year I won’t have to shove my way through hallways full of first-years just to spend my night in some bleak-ass Mather double. I’ve yet to find said hope.
From what I understand, there’s a new system with the housing lottery beginning this year. This being my first year at Kenyon, I don’t have a point of reference for how smoothly this is going but so far I give it a solid C-. Try giving me a better number, then (and only then) will I reevaluate. An effort I could appreciate is that to split up the housing assignment day into several separate days, so that the actual process of claiming your room/apartment/house/mausoleum isn’t the longest, most stressful shit-storm day of your young-adult* life. Too bad I get my housing the same day I register my fall schedule! Whose idea was that? WHOSE IDEA WAS THAT?
Anyways, hopefully I can end up in the not-that-ambitious-but-maybe-too-ambitious-considering-my-lottery-number Caples room I was shooting for. At least I have this platform to openly complain to the world wide web, the receptive and supportive audience it is. Count your blessings, right?
*I first used the word “adolescent” and then hesitated to keep it because, well, am I an adolescent anymore?? Are any of us???