When I look back at my time at Guilford, I will remember my three years in the Old Apartments, largely due to the fact that my first year was spent in a hazy soporific state due to my abnormally susceptible immune system, bolstered by near-toxic doses of Colt 45. I’ve learned a thing or two since those halcyon days when the New Apartments were a venerated bamboo patch, you could smoke pretty much anywhere, and the Greenleaf was but a twinkle in the eye of one of the more socially conscious potheads.

But rather than waxing poetic about the freshman days of yore, I’m going to attempt to pass on my hard-won (and dubiously named) wisdom to the next generation.

As I’ve clawed my way up the collegiate hierarchy, a few lessons have been branded into the forefront of my Foucault-saturated brain alongside the dates of the Thirty Years War (1618-48) and the exact price of the cheapest box of macaroni and cheese available at Harris Teeter (59 cents before tax).

Lesson the First: Every semester is different. This may seem obvious but even now, entering my senior year, I am constantly amazed at how different each semester is from the one that preceded it. College is not a static social environment. People get kicked out, go abroad, drop out and graduate. Guilford has a constantly shifting cast of characters. The folks who are on campus are subject to any number of variables that will affect the spirit of a semester: classes, dating, living situations, etc. You never get the same thing twice.

Lesson the Second: If you party hard, be prepared to work harder. You can’t escape the consequences of last night’s actions. Attempting to concentrate on your studies is near impossible if yesterday’s dinner is making valiant efforts to claw its way up your esophagus and into the sweet freedom of your roommates’ lap. People who don’t learn this lesson don’t last.

Lesson the Third: This can’t be emphasized enough. Treat the cafeteria workers, housekeepers, public safety officers, librarians and other staff with the same respect you give your professors. They make your experience here possible and don’t deserve to put up with your crap.
Lesson the Fourth: Live in Mary Hobbs Hall or the Old Apartments (theme houses are great too). Of all the gender-specific housing, Mary Hobbs Hall is my favorite. It’s beautiful, with communal potential, a coffee shop in the basement, and wood paneling on the floors. It doesn’t smell like jock-strap (English Hall) and it isn’t reminiscent of one of the more stringent Victorian sanitariums (Shore Hall). If you have the unfortunate handicap of being male, date someone who lives there and (assuming she will let you) sleep there.

The Old Apartments are superior to the New Apartments in nearly every way. They have dishwashers, porches, a patch of woods in the middle and your friends don’t have to swipe in to see you. The biggest problem with the Old Apartments is that when you have sex everyone knows about it. Those walls (and floors and ceilings) are thin. You’ll know the grunts, moans, squeals and roars of everyone in your building by years end. Is that too high a price to pay for clean dishes? I thought not.

But Guilford is a pretty great place no matter where you live. This time next year I’ll (God and Heather Hayton willing) be graduated and I’ll be more then a little misty-eyed about it. So take it easy on the Colt 45, takes classes you actually like, try not to breathe in too much if you live in English and you’ll be just as teary when your time comes.