and entering

I Didn’t Want You Either

The front of Currier House
You're not so hot yourself, Jim.

by Currier House 

I have to get something off my chest. This morning, I had seven of my finest children wait in a Zoom conference room to surprise you with the good news. With tree-spangled virtual backgrounds at the ready, they shouted and rejoiced as you were released from breakout room purgatorio into a welcoming home for the next 3 years. But all of you immediately muted and silenced yourself, which I can only take to mean that two of your blockmates fainted, one of your blockmates set a Google Calendar reminder for the interhouse transfer deadline in 2021, and you prostrated yourself on the floor as if you had been smote by God himself. Frankly, I found it a little insulting. 

You: a first-year who skims all the crumble topping off of HUDS apple crisp and leaves your dirty socks in the hallway bathroom. Me: a house with fifty-two kitchens and segways. Segways! I have to be honest; I wasn't thrilled either when I saw your name on my list. I'm sorry; did you think I wanted you

You don’t deserve how good it would be to live in Currier, Jim. My buildings are fully connected underground. I have so many elevators. Some sophomores here have singles the size of 4-person suites in Adams. I have the best dining hall food in all of Harvard, and no, it is not because people get hungry on the 15-minute walk from the Yard. I am the house with the biggest heart and the smallest carbon footprint.

Everyone is always talking about how they “don’t want Currier,” but no one talks about how “Currier doesn’t want them.” I am a strong independent house with buildings exclusively named after female alumni, and I am not going to let myself lose sleep over the groupthink-inspired opinions of an 18-year old freshman boy who gets peanut butter all over the handle of the serving spoon. 

Let me repeat myself, Jim: I have FIFTY-TWO kitchens. Fifty-two! You could use a different kitchen every week for an entire year.

© 2020