erinteater

When my friends tell me stories about Institute in Houston, it usually begins with something like, “It was really rough, but the dorms? Oh, the dorms were the WORST!” Moody Towers. Two tall buildings in the middle of the U of H campus. The walls are stained with something that could be rust, but it could also be blood. The carpet in our room is so old that there’s a hole in the middle of it. Perhaps giving the cockroaches access to my delicious Special K? The beds (lovingly deemed “The Bouches”) are plastic and horrible. I’m afraid my clothes will rot away in the closet, and I’m fairly certain something lives in our air vent. Or, rather, “lived” in our air vent.

There are no mini-fridges here in Moody. No microwaves. No way to prepare food at all. That means we are forced to eat cafeteria food. I have yet to venture into Moody Cafeteria, but if it’s anything like the rest of the building, I will likely be eating lots and lots of Special K. Without milk. There are no sinks in Moody, either. Which brings us to the bathrooms…

I have experienced community bathrooms before. In fact, the bathrooms in Kinsolving were quite nice. Clean, well kept, a generally pleasant place to mix and mingle with your floormates. I would not wish the Moody bathrooms on my worst enemy. The stalls are covered in mosaics of obscene graffiti, the floor is always wet, and the showers look like the perfect stage for a murder. I really don’t think I’ll ever shower here again. I’ll be the stinky girl who carries around a box of Special K. With red berries.

That said, I like it here at Moody. My roommate is amazing. She’s a real chill chick from New York, and we share a passion for oatmeal and DIET Cream Soda. I have a feeling we’ll get along famously. I haven’t met anyone that I don’t like. Everyone has their door open, we’re all making new friends from all over the country, and we have all been pre-screened for weirdness. Still, there’s this nervous tension around Moody tonight. We all know that when we wake up (at 5:30) it will be here. The first day of Institute. The hardest five weeks of our lives. Tomorrow I take the first step to becoming a teacher. This time next week, I’ll have a class all of my own at Jackson Middle School. This time next week I’ll know if I’ll be a 6th grade Reading teacher at Pilgrim Academy. This time next week I’ll be one week closer to the end.