Montclair State College - La Campana Yearbook (Upper Montclair, NJ)

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Living Neitiner Here Nor TInere I commute to school, about four miles each way, but I ' m not really considered to be a commuter stu- dent. I ' m a member of that nether world of off-campus students. We ' re obviously not dorm students, and our needs, and problems, are different from those who commute from their parents ' homes. So, some person with infinite wisdom and practical bent created the classifi- cation of ' off-campus ' students. When I came to MSC I really had no intention of becoming a member of this group. 1 applied for housing on campus, but with construction just beginning on Blanton Hall, there was an acute shortage of spaces and I was placed on a waiting list. With the possibility closed to me, at least temporarily, I was forced to com- mute. It sounds easy enough, but my home town is East Brunswick, a good 35 miles and, more important- ly, an hour and a half from Montclair. But commute I did. For a month I put up with the problems inherent in a long daily commute; rush hour traffic, high gas prices, the cost of tolls, and a feeling of missing out on extracurricular activities. I also checked my standing on the waiting list for a month. The news was never encouraging. Sure I moved up on the list, but after four weeks I was still no higher than num- ber 25. I had three options left to me; lose my mind while waiting for a spot in the dorms; drop out of school, or find an apartment near school. 1 opted for the last choice. I spent another two weeks fruit- lessly searching for a place I could afford, and one I would want to live in. I looked at apartments I wouldn ' t let my dog live in, and I ' m not too fond of my dog. If I found a place that hadn ' t been taken over by cockroaches, it was too expensive for my meager pocketbook. I finally heard about a place that was both habitable and within my price range. It seems that an ac- quaintance ' s friend ' s roommate was dropping out of school and in turn moving out of his apartment. I was dubious about sharing an apartment with a stranger — even if 1 would have my own bedroom — but I was desperate. The apartment was about four miles from campus in a relatively nice section of Montclair. I had talked to my prospective room- mate on the phone and he seemed nice enough, now if only the apart- ment was as nice. I approached the building with the mind of a cynic. Nice building, old but nice. I climbed the stairs, the apartment was a fourth floor walk up, but what the heck, I could use the exercise. I reached the fourth floor slightly out of breath but with a growing optimism. Jay, my prospective roommate, let me into the apart- ment and started explaining the rent and utility costs as he showed me around. The apartment was nice, real nice. Two bedrooms, kitchen, a very very small one but a kitchen nonetheless, a bathroom (larger than the kitchen) and an enormous living room with an unbe- lievable view of the New York sky- line. The rent was reasonable, the apartment was nice. Jay was a nice guy, but the viewl Visions of wine, women and romantic evenings gaz- ing at the view danced in my mind. If it was agreeable with Jay, I ' d move in as soon as possible. There was, however, one prob- lem: how to get my furniture from the street to the apartment, four flights of stairs away. I mulled it over for a few days and decided I had only one course of action. I lied to my friends and told them the build- ing had an elevator. Moving in wasn ' t as bad as I had anticipated. My friends were very understanding when I told them we had to carry a dresser, a desk, a double bed and two bookcases up four flights of very narrow stairs. Ac- tually they had no choice. I, with great foresight if I do say so myself, took the liberty of using my dad ' s pick-up and my car to get to the apartment. So, if my friends wanted to get home they would either have to steal my father ' s pick-up or help me with the furniture. Being reason- able people, they helped me. That was a year and a half ago and I have never regretted the de- cision to live off-campus, well, al- most never. There are wo distinct disadvan- tages to having an apartment; cleaning it, and people always sug- gesting it as an excellent place to have parties. Don ' t get me wrong, it ' s not that I have anything against cleaning or partying, I think every- one should do both, but in modera- tion. Take cleaning for example. I al- ways did my share when I lived at home. I didn ' t mind doing the dishes once in a while, or even doing my own laundry, but to have to do it all the time is not my idea of fun. Washing dishes is the worst. At first it wasn ' t bad, kind of a novelty. The novelty of it soon wore off and now it ' s not unusual for me to plan my meals according to the number of dishes I have to clean afterwards. Spaghetti? That ' s two pots, a col- londer, one dish, a large spoon, and a fork. Bacon and eggs for break- fast? A frying pan, spatulla, butter knife, fork and one dish. Cheesebur- ger and fries? None. McDonald ' s doesn ' t use dishes. Parties are another problem. Su re it ' s great to get all the friends to- gether for a night of merriment once in a while, but every time one of my friends wants to get everyone together, my place is mentioned first. We don ' t hove to worry about anybody crashing it at your place, they soy. There are no parents to worry about, they say. They ' re right, but what about cleaning the next day? Have you ever tried to clean up after a party with a hangover? Tried to clean up stale beer with a head pounding so badly that it reg- isters on seismographs two states away? The problems aren ' t really bad. It ' s all part of growing up and that is the major benefit of living off-campus — accepting responsibility for your- self. I ' ve learned to support myself, to pay rent on time, budget my money, shop for food and cook for myself. Certainly I did some of those things before I moved into my apartment, but they weren ' t a part of my daily or weekly routine. Now, if I don ' t shop for food, no one else will do it for me. If 1 don ' t cook dinner, no one will do it for me. If I don ' t pay my share of the rent, I can ' t depend on someone else to do it. I moved into my apartment a stu- dent, and gradually, and sometimes painfully, I ' m becoming a full- fledged adult.