4am Wake-Up Call, Duke Game Preparation and More

I am a resident advisor in my dorm and am therefore responsible for "promoting a safe and inclusive living and learning environment for the residents on my floor." In other words, I change the bulletin boards on the hall, put up flyers (most of the time), and am on "duty" about four times a month. Being on duty simply means working the desk until the office closes so residents can check out cleaning supplies, games, movies, cooking supplies, spare keys, anything that the Department of Housing budget deemed necessary (aka affordable) for dorm life. After the office closes, we hold the on-call phone until the morning in case we are needed throughout the night. In my entire 3-year tenure as an RA, I think I have gotten a call to the duty phone twice. The first was at 2:30 from a resident who felt lightheaded and needed ambulance assistance to the emergency room and the second was a freshman frat pledge who had been unsuspectingly locked out of his room by his pledge brothers. So when the phone rang at 4:35am, it took me a few minutes to realize what was making such an obnoxious noise. This is the scene that followed:

Me (in a groggy voice): "Hello. This is the RA on duty."

Boy: "Hey. Are you busy?"

Me (glancing at the clock): "Um, no?"

Boy: "Can you come to [resident room number]? I have kind of an embarrassing situation."

Me: "Sure, I'll be right there."

I threw on my jacket, thinking he had locked himself out of his room with minimal clothing or had drunkenly thrown up all over the floor, both very plausible events to take place on a Thursday night in Chapel Hill. As I approached the hallway in his building, I saw him standing in the hall.

Me: "Hey! What's up?"

Boy: "Hey, um, how do you feel about a bug?"

Me (silently): "Dear Lord, if this guy has woken me up at 4:30 in the morning to kill a bug in his room..."

Me (aloud): "Not so great, why?"

Boy: "Well one just crawled under my dresser and I get really queezy around bugs."

At this point, I knew it had to be a practical joke. Maybe I was getting Punk'd and the MTV crew would run out from their hiding places. But he had no roommate and his door was the only one open on the hall, making it a pathetic joke at that, but hey, people get their kicks different ways. I decided to humor him, looking in his room for a peek at this monstrosity of a bug that caused him to awaken me from my peaceful slumber. I saw nothing.

Me (stifling the laugh that was now lodged in the base of my throat): "I'm not really sure what you want me to do."

Boy: "I mean, can you see if it'll like come out from under the dresser and then like kill it or something?"

Me (searching his face for a hint of a smile in his genuinely serious expression, to no avail): "Okay?"

I walked over, kicked the side of the dresser and stood back, waiting for something to crawl out from under it, still stupefied that I was actually part if this bizarre scenario. Nothing happened.

Me: "I'm not sure what else I can do. You can email maintenance and they'll come out tomorrow and spray your room for bugs, but I really can't stand here waiting for a bug all night."

Boy: "Okay, that's fine. Thanks."

To my shock, he closed the computer that had been opened to what looked like chemistry notes, packed it in his bookbag, grabbed the pillow from his bed and said, "I'll just sleep in the lounge. I really hate bugs."

I still don't know if he was trying to play a joke, but regardless, here's what I have to say about this incident:

1. WHY would you ever even think to call the RA about a bug?! At 4:30am?!

2. WHY would you ever think that a female RA, who once caused a scene at work because of a June bug on the ground, would be of more assistance?

My only class of the day is at 10:00 on Friday mornings, so after tossing and turning the rest of the night after the "bug" situation, I was less than thrilled to hear my alarm go off at 9:00. I dragged myself out of bed, ate breakfast in a daze, and then made the hike to the Drama building. I was joined by about half my classmates (I knew attendance would be low on the day Spring Break starts), and my teacher looked mystified that we were sitting in the seats of the auditorium in front of her. She said, "What are you all doing here? I sent an email this morning canceling class."

Deadpan expression.

Normally, a day like this would have sent me running back to my dorm room, closing the blinds and falling asleep until I could try again with a fresh start tomorrow morning, but it's hard to be dismal with the buzz surrounding the upcoming UNC vs. Duke game. The excitement and anticipation on campus is contagious as sports fans everywhere prepare to watch one of college basketball's biggest rivalry games take place.

Today in the pit, T-shirts were being sold, games were being played, Roy Williams stopped by to give a pep talk to the students waiting in line for lunch (he had lost his voice at the Florida State game but his inspirational speech was nothing less than moving

and could bring a tear to even the most unenthusiastic Carolina student's eye), basketball players were taking pictures with those brave enough to hold out their camera, and the Dunk a Dooky dunking booth was in full swing.

I walked up on the booth just in time to catch a Dooky in a sombrero splash into the chilly water below, luckily capturing his downfall on film. I bought a Duke Week T-shirt to wear to the game tomorrow night and waved hi to John Henson as he passed by. It's time to show that pathetic excuse for a basketball team how the game is supposed to be played tomorrow night at 8pm in the Dean Dome, and I'll be there to witness it happen!

Go Heels,

Nicole

A Day in the Life of a College Senior

I find myself starting this post with the same hesitation I often feel when staring at the first page of a brand new journal. It's as if the moment my pen makes the first mark on the white paper, I have forever imprinted the beginning of my own history and am suddenly obligated to fill the expectant pages that follow with the unanticipated adventures of the future. To me, these blank pages so seemingly devoid of any markings hold an enchanting feeling of words written in invisible ink--they are there, fully present, waiting for someone to reveal their visibility. That person, I realize, is me.

Following the advice of my mother, who was the one to convince me to begin this blog in the first place, I awoke this morning determined to document the events of today--however insignificant--in hopes of painting a picture of the day of a college senior. Granted, my senior year experience may differ from that of a typical student at UNC Chapel Hill, so I guess a more appropriate statement would be that I want to document the events of my today in hopes of painting a picture of my day as a college senior.

You see, only in the past few weeks have I had a strange feeling, as if my mind is playing tug-of-war with itself but wasn't quite sure of the initial argument. Last night, the realization hit me like a punch to the stomach--a realization I've been hoping to altogether avoid: I'm not ready to graduate and, even more, I'm not ready to leave Chapel Hill. This place, that during finals week I have loathed with a hatred I never thought possible but at the same time filled me with an overwhelming sense of familiarity and comfort, has become my home whether I wanted it to or not. Chapel Hill has this way of silently creeping into your veins, becoming intertwined with the very blood that pumps through your heart, until one day you realize that you have unequivocally fallen in love with every battered brick, every Magnolia flower, every hint of Carolina blue that graces this beautiful campus.

So, that leads me to change my mind about the purpose of this blog. Yes, it is still a portrait of my days as a UNC senior (and probably provides comfort to my parents that their hard-earned dollars are a valuable contribution to more than just Senior Bar Night and Fridays on Franklin Street), but more than that, it is my tribute to this place to which I have developed an unforgettable attachment, a place that in two short months will no longer truly be mine but instead a place that holds memories of growing into an adult, one that I will visit with nostalgia when reminiscing on the "best years of my life".

Today is Thursday, otherwise known as "big gym" day, "last day of work" day, or simply "one day from the weekend" day. I wake up each Thursday to the sound of my alarm (as long as I haven't already been awakened by the singing Mockingbirds outside my window, the sound of the housekeeper opening the supply closet, conveniently located directly across from my door, or the introductory drone of a UNC student tour guide ushering wide-eyed, prospective students through our residence hall quad) at approximately 9:30am. Benefit #1 of being a senior: You have full-range of taking advantage of later class times and I have absolutely followed suite, leaving the 8:00am classes to lowly freshman who select their courses far after my appointed time. After breakfast and about an hour of watching Matt Lauer, Meredith Vieira and Al Roker, I head to the Student Rec Center to meet Emily and Anna for our long morning at the gym.

Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays are devoted to elliptical machines and

challenging abdominal work, but Tuesdays and Thursdays put strain on all of my unforgiving muscle groups--deltoids, biceps, triceps, calves, hamstrings, quadriceps, abdominals, and in favor of the upcoming swimsuit season, the gluteus. We have become regulars, waving to others who dedicate the same hour and fifteen minute part of their Tuesday/Thursday routine to the smell of sweat and cleaning products and the songs blaring from bad radio stations.

After returning the combination lock from my locker to the front desk and dropping my used sweat towel in the hamper by the door, I continue to my one and only class of the day: Race and Ethnic Relations, grabbing a Daily Tar Heel along the way so the Sudoku can keep me entertained during the next hour and a half. Originally, this class was held in the Sociology department building, a building I was completely unfamiliar with (and

embarrassingly had to consult the campus map to locate) until the first day of class. Due to the high demand of students eager to learn of cultural and racial diversity (and to score the unspoken A that is guaranteed in almost any sociology course on this campus), our class was moved to none other than Chapman Hall, my most despised piece of architecture in the state of North Carolina and home to the UNC Chemistry department. I clearly remember celebrating after my Organic II final, knowing wholeheartedly that I'd never step foot in that repulsive classroom again. Thanks to karma, I have now spent the past eight weeks in the exact same seat I suffered through most of freshman and sophomore year.

When the lecture is over, I quickly walk to my car and drive to Rashkis Elementary School where a 9-year-old boy expects my presence at one particular bench when he is dismissed from school for the day.

Because I only needed 6 credit hours to graduate, I decided to apply for an after-school babysitting job and was rewarded with so much more than I had bargained for. This child, who has become one of my best friends, is unbelievably intelligent and amazes me each day with his knowledge of US president trivia. I discovered his talent one afternoon in the car

when he was describing, in detail, Abraham Lincoln's life history. He recited the presidents preceding and succeeding Lincoln, their dates of birth, marriage, inauguration, death, age at inauguration, age at death, and the names of their family members. At the next stoplight, I looked through the rearview mirror and asked if he could name the presidents in order. His response: "Would you like me to name their vice-presidents as well?" Each day when I pick him up, we briefly talk about his day and then continue quizzing each other about the presidents, though he knows infinitely more than I do. I drive him home, prepare his snack (organic milk in the exact same chimpanzee coffee mug and either pecans or Goldfish in a small bowl), help him complete his homework, and drive him to his taekwondo class.

After being out all day, I am always so excited to return to my dorm room at the end of the night, fix dinner in the kitchen down the hall, sit on my futon and read my newest novel. I remember in elementary school, my mom would always send me to my room with a snack and a book after returning home from school. She called it my "me" time and ever since, that "me" time has been a crucial part of my day. It's the time I get all to myself, precious hours of silence in which I can read, paint, write, and occasionally study. (It's also the reason I became a resident advisor, knowing I'd have my own room instead of sharing my space with a roommate.)

Well, that's my day. As lackluster as it may seem to some, I enjoy its predictability and the easy way I've fallen into this routine.

Signing off on my first blog,

Nicole