Berry Nice | Worth it despite the mice

After you pay your dues (both monetary and emotional) to a closet-sized double in Hill College House your freshman year, your housing options increase — high rises, Greek houses, the Radian, row houses. So what’s a clueless freshman to do?

While I can’t promise an in-depth lowdown on all the housing options around campus, I can shed some light on why I chose to move into an off-campus house and why I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when I decided to move out of University housing my sophomore year. A beautiful, red, three-story house with eight of my closest friends — what’s not to love, right?

My move-in certainly had its hiccups, and it may be too soon to tell, but after now having spent only two weeks in my new (humble, I assure you) abode, I feel like I have a new appreciation for living off campus and all the thrills and wills that come with it.

I’ve already had to deal with unforeseeable issues. During my two-week -long move-in limbo, classy discarded mattresses and dressers tastefully decorated my front porch waiting for the Salvation Army to rescue them. My 60-year-old neighbor, who conveniently lives in the attaching duplex, welcomed me with a high-pitched threat that she’d “rip out my fucking heart if I didn’t tend to my shit ASAP.” How sweet. How civilized. How best to unite the whole house in passive aggression toward her from then on out.

On move-in day, when I excitedly burst into my foyer, I was greeted not by College House T-shirts and coffee mugs but instead by an orgy of spider webs and mouse droppings. My reaction to these “gifts” is much more laughable in hindsight.

Pests and pestering neighbors weren’t the only things I failed to foresee. Sure, upperclassmen had given me the lowdown about how great it was to not have to sign in guests after 2 a.m., but you can no longer call on your trusty College House maintenance team to see to the spiders, refill the toilet paper, change the light bulb or take out the trash. Your options are to drip dry in the dark or take matters into your own hands.

Gaining total living independence at the ripe old age of 20 is a bizarre transition. Rent, electricity and gas bills, oh my! When you move off campus, you no longer have RAs knocking down your door when the music’s too loud or the party’s too rowdy, but instead you have the good ole’ police with threats a bit more daunting than First Step. After said party, your walk of shame is across West Philly, not across the Quad. Not to mention walks of shame from the Quad. Boy, are those bad …

Still, despite the supposed inconvenience of having to cook my own meals, sort my own mail and call my own plumber when need be, moving off campus was one of the best decisions I ever made.

Hill omelets might be delectable, but nothing is better than having three Jehovah’s Witnesses come to the door during house choco-chip-pancake brunch or learning how to do the stanky leg while wiping the spilt batter off the kitchen floor. Mops are so overrated.

Above all, when you live off campus with friends, they become your family. I think that’s a fair trade for a mouse or a chore here or there.

Keeping a house up and running is sort of like pledging: you bond during the clean spells but especially during the post-party disasters. I don’t see this house loyalty fading anytime soon. And given my newfound expertise in cleaning, I wonder if I can list household chores as an extracurricular.

Kensey Berry is a College sophomore from Little Rock, Ark. Her e-mail address is berry@theDP.com. Berry Nice appears on Tuesdays.

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