Hallmates from Hell, Part 2

Last time, I told you about my oh-so-lovely hallmates, who chose to cover my board with hateful words. When misogynistic and sexist words come into it, I’ve officially stopped being willing to roll over. I emailed the floor’s RCA, who passed me on to the dean of student life. I spoke with the dean and ultimately an email and letter was circulated indicating such behavior was not to be tolerated. After that, the words disappeared and the images stopped showing up — for a while, and I thought that would be the end of it. But the hallmates from hell kept finding more ways to be the rudest human beings I’ve ever crossed paths with.

By Ccandyblairh

One night at four a.m. the whole group came banging back from a wild night at one of the eating clubs. One girl and one guy had gotten into some sort of argument, and they decided to have it out — right in front of my door. For an hour I heard screaming of “YOU ARE A BAD PERSON! A BAD PERSON!” And the barked reply, “JUST FORGET IT AND GO TO BED!” immediately followed by the “YOU ARE A BAD PERSON!” again. My boyfriend emailed the rca to complain. Later that week, I was returning from a late shower, only wearing a towel, and found the whole group of freshmen clustered around my door, talking loudly. When I said “excuse me,” they ignored me. When I started pushing at people, they still ignored me. I had to shout at the top of my lungs and push at the same time, clutching my towel, just to get them to move. I still don’t know if they were purposefully being difficult, or just were oblivious, but it made me feel oddly threatened and vulnerable, as if they were determined not to recognize me as a human being.

Right about in the same time period, it was my boyfriend’s birthday and I got him a gorgeous-looking cake. I put it in the communal fridge. Later that day, we and our friends had a party and had a few slices. At least half of the lovely, gourmet cake was left; I put it back in the fridge. The next day, I went to get a slice and found that it was gone. The box was still there, but the cake had been entirely eaten, with my note — “Don’t touch please, thanks!” carefully replaced on top of the box. Dammit, that was my cake! A month later, the obscene images started showing up on my chalkboard again. This time, they were accompanied with a message: “socially inept.”

I had already complained to the rca and the dean several times; what could I do? I felt furious and helpless at the same time. I had always been the kind of girl who let people walk all over her. When I was picked on in middle school for being a bookworm, I bore the taunts in silence. I never said a word to my parents or teachers when kids harassed me, stuffed garbage in my mailbox, ceaselessly teased. Now, here I was, a mature, 20-year-old woman, living independently, fending for myself, and it was all happening again. These hallmates had the maturity level of middle-schoolers, and I couldn’t help letting it get to me. I wanted to cry, and I hated that I wanted to cry. I was such a coward!

But I knew that the kind of people who enjoy intimidating and excluding other people, in making a game of others’ pain, weren’t looking for much provocation. It wasn’t my fault; I had been chosen, as the only girl on the hall who wasn’t a freshman, and it didn’t really matter who I was. Though the freshmen insisted on getting personal in these irritating ways, the harassment actually wasn’t personal at all. They didn’t know me, judge me and find me wanting; they barely even knew my name.

I erased the message on my board as if it had never been there. When I was in the bathroom with the other girls, I took to giving them a defiant stare, but I didn’t say anything. The last month dragged by and the freshmen seemed to have decided that their last ploy had gone a bit too far. They were quieter from then on, and no more messages appeared.

Now a brand new school year is ahead of us. Hopefully, they’ve used the time off to mature, to realize their wrongs and begin thinking about other people as human beings too. That might be wishful thinking on my part. Either way, I won’t be living among them next year. Thank god for senior privilege.