The fall of the 9th floor

Before starting my freshman year at WSU, my father told me: "The friends you make your freshman year are the people you spend the rest of your time at college trying to get rid of."

Those words proved rather prophetic. Although it didn't take me nearly that long to terminate my relationship with the gang from the 9th floor of Stephenson North.

Things initially remained pretty tight between us all after Winter Break, but by February there were some distinct cliques formed on the floor. There had always been the unsocial kids on the floor, who weren't part of the gang and kept to themselves, but those of us who constituted the true heart and soul of the 9th had previously operated more or less as one homogenized group.

By February, however, that unit was split largely into two groups.

The first group was sort of the "cool" kids. Alex, August, Matt, and Hayden formed the core of this group, along with several non-9th floor students. They spent more and more time hanging out behind closed doors, which had previously been unheard of on the 9th floor. All of us had open door polices - if one of us were home, our door was generally open and anyone could walk in. But they also had reason to spend more time behind closed doors as they started spending more time engaging in unhealthy (not to mention illegal) drinking and smoking habits.

The second group, on the other hand, kept the open door policy going. Steven, the Dans, Colton, Nick, Mike, Billy, Tyler, and myself were the primary members of this second group. We were basically the "nerdier" contingent of the 9th floor. In that second semester, we entertained ourselves largely with epic video game battles or watching movies (not that there wasn't drinking and some "herbal relief" going on. Our group just spent considerably less time doing this. And none at all, in my case).

The rest didn't fit in with the other two groups. They were like free agents who might drift between the two social groups or just started doing their own thing.

It's not like the different social groups completely cut off all interaction together - there was definitely crossover. In general, however, these distinct cliques were formed. You might hangout with someone from the other group a couple times per week, but you'd see your own clique members everyday.

Personally, I didn't find this so bad. Video games and movies are right up my alley, so I had no regrets about my particular group.

At least, not at first. Even this group of friends proved short-lived.

As the school year drew to a close, I started growing weary of the 9th floor. And frankly, I sensed many of my floormates growing weary of me.

I never touched a drop of alcohol before turning 21 and to this day I've never smoked, snorted, injected, etc. any drugs. This earned me quite a bit of grief during my four years at WSU. People looked at me funny whenever I told them "I don't drink." Some people treated me like I was diseased because I didn't enjoy such vices.

It's nice now that I'm out of college because people don't treat you like a freak for not regularly drinking alcohol or ingesting drugs. My body is a temple reserved only for food - and lots of it!

My tastes and personality often give me a certain (arguably false) sense of maturity. I'm an "old soul,"  as GF likes to put it. There's only so much sexual or scatalogical humor I can stand before it goes from funny to stupid. Needless to say, that attitude didn't mesh well with a bunch of 18/19-year-old dudes who, to put it nicely, generally acted more appropriate for their age. Not that it was always penis and fart jokes, but it was pretty close to always.

Things would just get uncomfortable for me sometimes. I felt like I really had little in common with these guys, and that they were feeling the same way and doing their best to get ride of me.

These factors, combined with my knack for social awkwardness even amongst my closest friends, proved to be my undoing.

Even amongst the smaller, "nerdier" clique, I became an outsider. They started doing activities without me. When I was around I sometimes got left-out in conversation, which was preferable to the increasing amount of mockery and condescension some 9th floor members threw my way.

Sadly, I had few friends outside of the 9th floor. Yet I was growing more and more fond of the few I did have as time wore on. In particular my friendship with an older, bizarre, ginger-haired South African/Scottish neuroscience student I met in English 101 (known alternatively as "The Lord of the Dice" or "Bad Motorscooter" for the purposes of this blog).

The 9th floor gang was good for a loud, rowdy time, but they weren't the sort of friends I could have real conversations with. They weren't the sort of guys I could talk to about important things.

Bad Motorscooter, for all his eccentricities that I hope to detail in a future post, was that type of friend. A conversation with The Lord of the Dice might start out sociable, become deeply personal, then move on to politics, before winding up as a discussion on Japanese fetishes (kittens and heels...kittens and heels. I shudder just thinking about it). You could have a good laugh, a good cry, and intelligent conversation with him all at once.

Bad Motorscooter reminded me of Big G and Puma from high school, or my Berkeley friends (who I really must get around to writing about in more detail someday). Friends I could rely upon in any situation.

Hell, they aren't friends - they're like family.

The 9th floor was a pretty cool group to hang with, but they weren't family.

After the school year ended, my contact with the guys from the 9th floor pretty much ended. They didn't seek me out, and I responded in kind. Thanks to social media I can tell you that much of the friendships built on the 9th floor did continue, some just for a little while and others to this day, but I had no such luck.

The days of the 9th floor were over; for better or worse.

However, the next chapter of my college career was poised to begin. Starting with my arrival to Olympia Avenue, walking through the doors of Murrow East 113, and a phone call that led to a chain of events that forever changed my life.