Note: The author has since become a senior and a non-RPL and she says HAHA WADDUP BISHES!
I’ve lived in Keeney twice. Once during my freshman year and now as a junior working an RPL job in Archibald (my official title is World’s Worst WPC).
Living in Keeney again has had me deeply reflecting on my Brown experience, especially as I move on to my senior year. A lot has changed since freshman me lived in Keenasty. I mean, do we even call it that anymore?
For example, when I first got to “Jameson-Mead, 1st floor, Wait, oh my god, like, you’re a Ravenclaw, too? We should go to Josiah’s or something!” I still thought I was going to law school. Law school! Three years later, and while I do still plan to be unemployed, it will sadly be sans the JD.
Three years! It’s so funny how in three years the whole structure of your social life changes– it’s hard to believe that I couldn’t see that you were always right beside me thought I was alone with no one to hold but you were always right beside me The Ratty was at one point the place to be. Freshman year, my friends and I were all on meal plan and the good ole Ratty was only a few steps away at any given moment. It was always poppin’. Now all of us are off meal plan and the “place to be” is wherever we can find the largest Kabob & Curry crumbs.
In 2014, I was much more of a rule follower, attending unit meetings and actually going to my Monday-Wednesday-Friday 8:30. Now? I have had multiple semesters in which I have read maybe three readings total for any given class, I have taken two weeks off for Spring Break — twice–, and I regularly pretend that fire safety rules (i.e. no smoking/candles/seances in the building) do not apply to me because one time a STEM person told me that “smoke detectors in the dorms aren’t set off by actual smoke, but rather, by high temperatures.” Now I don’t actually know if that’s true, but it sounds logical enough for me to say “fuck it!” when I’m too lazy to move half an inch and open a window.
Though these acts were incriminating enough when I was a regular student, now I’m also an RPL, so some things I’ve done are arguably worse because of my position as a “representative of the Brown student code of conduct” or whatever–a reason which prevents me from revealing my true identity in this post. And though you can probably deduce who is writing this given the information provided, you can’t actually prove I did anything wrong and this won’t hold up in a court of law, Your Honor. (Ugh, “law.” How do “rights” even work? There’s a reason I’m not going to law school and it is that I don’t know shit. But TBH the more I type this, the more I realize that this probably would hold up in a court of law? But I still feel the need to write this article. Anything for comedy, amirite ladies? And gentlemen of the jury? No? Okay. Yeah, no you’re totally right!)
What I’m trying to say is that, as a student, I have done really stupid stuff. As an RPL, I have done really, really stupid stuff. Here are my top confessions–my deepest moments of high-level stupidity that will make you think, “wow it now makes sense why I have had no guidance at this shitty university” “why haven’t they fired her?”
ONE. Giving a Random Guy His Fake ID Back, Finding Out He’s Not a Random Guy But is In Fact, A Resident of Mine, And Then Still Giving Him His Fake ID Back, Because, He “Has a Right to Party.”
I found a West Virginia ID right outside Archibald. I thought, “Surely, this is a fake.” (Since, as we know, nobody in the world is from West Virginia, and that includes West Virginians.)
“This probably belongs to some kid who was partying in Keeney but lives in EmWool or some shit. I guess I’ll try to look him up to ‘give him his ID back,’ and when I don’t find him, I can keep the ID for myself and sell it for a bunch of money to some poor freshman. Muahahaha! Sweet!”
Not sweet– the name was real, and when the very real person asked if I could deliver his very fake card to his somewhat real room, I asked, annoyed, where he lived, because I didn’t really have time for this not-making-money-off-others’-misfortune bull. He said he lived Three Doors Down from me. Meaning he was my resident, and I just clearly didn’t know his name. He took the card from me soon after. What can I say? Not knowing my resident’s names has been my Kryptonite this semester.
TWO. Smoking a Joint With A Resident On the Main Green While A DPS Security Officer Watched
This is pretty self-explanatory. We were friends before I became her RPL, and I just didn’t realize taking a hit from her joint on the Main Green was the literal equivalent of Ezra sleeping with Aria on Pretty Little Liars. Some boundaries are just meant to be broken. For better TV, of course! This may have happened on 4/20. Because you can’t make this shit up.
THREE. Bringing a Senior Home for Fun Sexy Time. “Home” as in Keeney. Keeney Quadrangle. On a Weekend. Like at 10pm. When All The Freshman Are Running Amok, Partying. “Sexy Time” as in, I Still Have A Twin XL.
A freshman came up to my senior as we walked through the Archibald Arch: “Hey, do you know how I can get tickets to the Small Victories party? You know, the one from Facebook?” I interjected, trying to end the conversation before a feeling of regret ruined my night when my senior saw me next to this fetus man-child and realized, “Yeah, she also seems like she’s 13, so maybe I should go home?”
I said: “Maybe you can check that Facebook page you’re talking about.” The freshman said: “Oh my god, yes, you’re right, I could totally do that! Thanks!” Senior and I laugh. Oh, the youths. Can’t even think straight. We go inside. It smells like alcohol and puke and there’s loud music and small children wearing tiny club outfits. One of them runs into a wall.
“Wow it’s… uh…been a while,” Senior says. “Freshmen dorms! Hah.”
Need I say we did not have sexy time?
UNLESS you count the times our fingers accidentally touched every time we tried to turn up the Netflix volume on my laptop because we couldn’t hear anything over a) the sounds of the people below us having a dance party, b) the people next to us competing in perhaps the most intense Mario Kart tournament of all time, and c) the sound of the fucking ghosts on the top floors of Archibald who were clearly extras in The Shining, moving around what could only have been cast iron furniture in the LOUDEST haunting to ever happen on this realm.
Am I exaggerating?
Absolutely not.
FOUR. Ironically Joking About Making a Countdown Until The Day It’s Okay To Sleep With My Residents and Then Unironically Downloading a Countdown App
Senior Scramble is just around the corner. HMU, younguns.
FIVE. Irresponsibly Bringing Sangria to an Already Loud-Ass Birthday Party In The Common Lounge For A Bunch of Other Irresponsible RPLs To Get Drunk Off Of
Never put 15 drunk RPLS of color in a room together. It just turns into a workshop on the evils of ResLife and/or a Salsa Party. No resident nor Community Directors could have stopped us.
SIX. Telling My Kids How To Sneak Molly Into Spring Weekend And How/Where To Test Their Drugs
I’ve actually never rolled but that didn’t stop me from spreading the wisdom of my edgier friends to my first-years. Honestly, I think I was just being responsible because lots of people do it, and so they might as well be safe. This is the one and only time I acted responsibly as an RPL, clearly.
Okay…Before I sign off, if you are from ResLife, this is actually a work of fiction AND IT WILL NOT HOLD UP IN A COURT OF LAW BECAUSE I PLEAD THE FIFTH. But if I do go to jail, in the movie version, I would like to be played by Latina Lindsay Lohan–I’m sure we’ll find her by then–and my character will instead go to NYU for added depth. So don’t even worry, ResLife, because this isn’t about you! Also, please don’t fire me.
Oh wait. I’m living off-campus next year! Is anyone else hiring at Brown? I’m a great employee.
Image via Sarah Clapp.