Volume 1, Issue 8 -- SUMMER 2001

Male dorm sign-up 
becomes marathon
On your marks, get set...

NMRH -- As the semester winded down in late April, students were caught up in the midst of making summer plans, not to mention having to cope with the hectic schedule of final exams. In the face of all these pressing rituals, you would think the last thing stressing Choctaws out would be reserving a dorm room for the Fall 2001 semester, right? Sadly, that was not the case, especially for the males on campus. 

Just as the Whittington Weekly documented last year at this time, students were once again dealt a bad hand. However, the lengths that the powers that be went to in their quest to complicate things that would otherwise be simple, bordered on insanity. Once again, sign-up was conducted in order of seniority, which there's nothing inherently wrong with, unless rooms that are ALREADY OCCUPIED are up for grabs. Immediately following the first night of reservation festivities, residents in New Men's were perplexed when they found out that the very rooms they would be sleeping in that night did not belong to them anymore, because two fifth year seniors had already "called dibs". 

When the time finally rolled around for these unfortunate "homeless" students to take a stab at finding another room in their previous residence hall, they gathered nervously in the Rotunda on the appointed evening. Upon arriving, they were dismayed to find that over seventy-five others were already waiting on them, many of whom had never even partaken of the luxuries that were the private bathrooms and network connections of New Men's. Because the Resident Director had taken extra special care to keep the exact sign-up location a secret, New Men's inhabitants had gathered on all three floors in hope that they would find themselves "closer" to the destination...providing that it was on their floor.

Cheers and exclamations of "Hail Caesar" echoed throughout the Rotunda as the Resident Director, flanked by R.A.'s, arrived to address the masses fifteen minutes prior to sign-up. Admiring the sea of humanity from the second floor balcony, R.D. "Julius" motioned for an end to the applause and began his royal proclamation. A hush fell over the crowd as anticipation rose to a feverish pitch for the imminent disclosure of the sign-up location. Furthering the disenchantment of the testosterone- filled mob, the first announcement made it clear that not even half of those gathered would get in a room, as there were less than 26 rooms left.

In a contest where speed was key, members of the Choctaw cross country/ track team easily held an advantage over other, out-of-shape participants.

Finally, it was revealed that dorm sign-up would begin "in precisely fifteen minutes in roommmm...” While students began taking starting line stances, the R.D. paused to bask in the one moment in time that he would hold such power. "...ROOM 363!!" As if a gunshot had sounded, the mad dash to the third floor was on. Those experiencing the proceedings from the third floor balcony gloated in their fortunate positions, until they quickly realized that they only had a two-floor advantage over the others, and a stampede (eerily reminiscent of a scene from Ben Hur) was on its way up the stairwell.

The Whittington Weekly staff, refusing to take part in this uncivilized display of carnage, watched in amazement from the bottom floor as the frenzied herd made its way to the third floor above them. Cries of anguish and pain resounded off the Rotunda dome as students were trampled and maimed in the chaotic tornado of bodies fighting for their slot in the hallowed confines of the newest men's residence hall on campus. Gruesome pleads of "I can't feel my legs" and "I believe my rib just punctured my lung!" filled the air as the mass finally made its way into the sign-up hall. 

Surveying the damage on the way up, we discovered this shredded picture (right) of a certain Director of Residence Life. Apparently, in a fit of rage, some student ripped it up with his bare hands. Also, we found a dismembered finger. Yes, we can confirm that it was a pinkie. 

The carnage, however, was not just limited to physical injuries. Sophomore Michael Bolls reportedly suffered monetary loss when his wallet mysteriously disappeared during the commotion. "I bought a Coke a few minutes earlier, then put [the wallet] back in my pocket," stated Bolls. "Things got so crazy during the race, guys were bumping into each other everywhere...I was too busy trying not to get crushed; someone must have taken advantage of that."

When we arrived to the third floor fashionably late, we gazed in amazement at the spectacle before us, as an exhausted group of male students lined both sides and the middle of the hall, leading all the way down to the coveted door of room 363. The scene was highly reminiscent of a box office during a concert on-sale date for a hot musical act, such as King Konga. For the record, the R.D. was several minutes late, but everyone who was left after the exhausting marathon didn't seem to notice. 

Housing contracts were passed out to everyone in order to ensure a "faster registration process". However, even if you took the time to fill out the form, there was no guarantee that a room would be waiting on you. Instead, disgruntled iron men used the backs of the contracts as signs to write insults to all of those who were cunning enough to have made it to the front of the line. Gloating, many "first-in-line-ers" exited 363 victorious; they were met with messages of "I got your gold medal right here" and "EAT THIS Jackie Joyner!"

Resident Assistants exclaiming “you just didn’t want it bad enough” scolded students who were left out in the cold as sign-up ended. As parting gifts, those remaining were advised that there was still plenty of room on the Hederman waiting list. 

Here’s a parting thought: When the security of you retaining you dorm room is not based on the fact that you already live there but on how fast you can make it to the third floor, something is seriously wrong. Maybe the office of Residence Life should re-examine their definition of  “seniority”. -- Grandmaster Sexay

The above article was intended for parody purposes only.
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