That one person who always hoards the vacuum.
THAT ONE PERSON WHO ALWAYS HOARDS THE VACUUM. Follow for more real talk on the Ivy League experience.
Before we dove into the depths of economic theory or dissected Shakespearean sonnets, there was a simpler, yet profoundly irritating, daily reality: the communal vacuum cleaner. We all knew that person. The one who, despite shared resources and communal responsibility, somehow managed to make the essential cleaning tool disappear for days, sometimes weeks, on end.
It wasn’t just about dust bunnies or spilled ramen; it was a silent, simmering declaration of dorm-room dominance. Who had the audacity? Who needed it that badly? These weren't the intellectual debates we came here for, but they were undeniably part of our Ivy League education. These tiny, unspoken conflicts formed the bedrock of dorm politics, a microcosm of the power dynamics we’d later navigate in the wider world. We learned patience, passive-aggression, and the strategic timing of an early morning raid on the janitor’s closet.
Remember the relief of finally finding it, tucked away in some obscure corner, just as your roommate's dust allergies flared? Or the silent fury as you surveyed a carpet that clearly hadn't seen a brush in a month, knowing full well who the culprit was? These moments, alongside the midnight study sessions and life-altering conversations, are etched into our shared history. They remind us that even among the most ambitious, the struggle for a clean common room was real. What’s your notorious vacuum-hoarding tale?