As a proud Radcliffe resident, I’ll be the first to say it: Quad life is rough. Roll out of bed two minutes late for class? You’re already 20 minutes late, shuttle time. Want to schedule a meeting in your neighborhood? Just try to get friends to venture north and watch as their faces contort in disbelief. Have an hour between classes? Two hours? Three? You’ll be spending a good amount of time playing the “is it worth it?” game in your head and probably miss the shuttle doing it. Forget to bring your notes to section in half an hour? Guess you’ll be taking a vow of silence.
But a life of lateness prepared me for this perennial tardiness. In fact, my northern abode has given me a convenient excuse.
What I wasn’t prepared for was starvation. For example, a week ago I strolled into Adams—a Quadling safe-house of sorts—to swipe in for my nighttime sustenance, only to be confronted by a foreboding sign “No Interhouse Dining”. The sign could just as well have been in Quincy, Lowell, or Winthrop. It might as well have read “Community Dining,” or “Screw you, Asli. Eat your left pinkie, for all I care.”
Interhouse restrictions are a blatant injustice. Freshmen have Annenberg, but what do Quadlings have? Boloco? The guys there know me as “Regular Mediterranean Tofu” from all my post-rejection visits and I am, accordingly, ashamed.
Adams House was the latest strike in this culinary crusade to make commuters second-class citizens. Listen up, river dwellers and your HUDS accomplices: we won’t stand for it. Le Resistance is slowly forming against you and your delusion that the arbitrary housing lottery somehow made you more entitled to sustenance. And thanks, random girl in Adams for refusing to call me your “guest.” You will be the first to go.
