It was a butt, and it smashed through our living room window.
I didn’t know anybody could dance that hard, let alone grind his way through — albeit thin — glass.
You would think that he would have noticed that half of his body was outside in the Saturday night cool air, but instead he just kept going.
“Did you just do that?” I asked the unsuspecting vandal as I examined the broken glass.
He denied the deed, gave me an embarrassed glance, and was gone into the night never to be seen again. I hope he managed to escape without any lacerations to his aggressive rear end.
It was the first “real” damage to our off-campus home, and while annoying and costly, it felt like a sweet milestone. The man who came to repair the window on Monday afternoon said he had seen a lot of broken glass at CC houses, but he had never heard about anyone dirty dancing their way through a fenestration.
Impressive, he said. I concurred.
I waited three years to live off-campus, and signing the lease to my dream house on Uintah last fall was one of the most exciting days of my life.
So far, the adventure has lived up to—and in many cases exceeded—my expectations. I love it.
Beyond the Internet bills and beer spills, seeing the college from a more separated pair of eyes has been an experience all on its own. Sometimes I feel like I’m not even a student anymore, but rather an intruder who takes classes and weirdly hangs around those who are enrolled.
The disconnect is a good thing because it has made me appreciate CC’s on-campus housing
Last year I lived in an apartment in John Lord Knight on the third floor with a view looking out over Pikes Peak.
“This will be best view I will ever have,” I told everyone.
Sure, you can see the Purple Mountain Majesty from our roof, but it’s significantly further away. I miss that apartment; I even miss my rooms in Slocum and Jackson.
When I moved into my off-campus house in August, I started to lament the fact that I only had one year to make memories in our lovable, old blue home.
It got me thinking: these temporary homes that we inhabit in college become a part of us and us a part of them. For one year, our lives change on the linoleum, industrial carpet and worn hardwood floors that we waltz over.
The dents in the floor will remain in Slocum. The holes in the wall of Jackson 201 can only be repaired so well. The burnt toast lingers in JLK. The footprint someone left on the wall of our living room last week will remain, at least until one of us gets tired of looking at the muddy reproduction of a larger-sized tennis shoe.