Hello, Kitty!

Thursday night is a sacred night in college. People go out, people study, people hibernate in preparation for a crazy weekend – Thursday night is unspeakably important.
Last Thursday night, as I snuggled down under my blankets, feeling responsible for getting Friday’s homework done and excited to get a good night sleep, I said to myself, “Wow, how lucky am I to live in America, where my fellow kinsmen appreciate the hallowed events of Thursday night.” My roommate, who has just recently gotten over the fact that I always talk to myself before falling asleep, nodded and went back to cramming for her major history exam.
Just as all the week’s troubles began to disappear with that magic Thursday night slumber, the most horrible noise woke me up. It was worse than the kids in the room above me when they sing Hannah Montana, it was worse than drunken shrieks, it was even more vile than my alarm clock. It was the fire alarm, and it was definitely unwelcomed at 2:30 in the morning.
My roommate urged me to get up and get out of the building. I calmly grabbed a jacket and started sliding on boots, looking around the room, wondering if there was anything else I should take – books? Too heavy. Jewelry? Too silly. Pillows and blanket in case Flather burns down and I have to live on the streets? Nah, too much trouble.
I realized how dazed I was as I tried to walk out of the room, tripping over my own feet and wondering aloud if my boots matched my sparkly Hello Kitty pajamas. My roommate and I found a stampede erupting in the stairwell, but made it to the first floor un-trampled.
My fellow Flather residents spilled out into the chilly outdoors wearing robes, pj pants, or like some of the more unlucky ones, just boxers. Some complained, some huddled together for warmth, some even tried to study. One of my friends tried to dry his hair, as he had just jumped out of the shower. Ironically, the group closest to me lit up cigarettes, and through the haze of smoke and naturally bad eyesight sans glasses or contacts, I saw that the magic of Thursday night had been ruined.
There are so many milestones that we were warned about before college: the sleepless nights, the tough professors, living on your own. It could have been the hour of sleep, it might have been the cold, but, standing outside in my pajamas I wondered if this was a milestone. Yes, some idiot pulled the fire alarm. That probably happens all the time. But people were standing in groups, looking out for friends – just three months ago, I didn’t even know any of these people existed. Imagine who we will be in three years. Hopefully we won’t be getting dragged out of our beds in the wee hours of the morning. Maybe by senior year, none of us will even be in bed by 2:30.
Who will we be? Do we have to grow up? As I continue my “journey” at CUA, do I have to give up things like Hello Kitty pajamas? Do I have to start doing adult things like folding my socks? I’m BAD at folding clothes! Is there any hope for me? What if I decide to change my major to Political Computer Spanish History? What if I have to graduate late? What if I don’t graduate at all?! Then, I will have to roam the streets. I cursed myself for not grabbing my pillow and blanket. That would have made the transition to hobo life way easier.
My inner panic attack was cut short by my RA shuffling us back into the building. I almost forgot my anxieties when one of the boys on the fifth floor laughed at my pj’s. Back in my warm, cozy room, I realized that this fire alarm had been a sort of awakening, both literally and metaphorically. Over-thinking the future is lame. Milestones are for old people. Just enjoy the moment, even if it means huddling close to your relatively new friends for warmth or laughing at the kid who didn’t get a chance to put clothes on before evacuating his dorm room.
Oh, and P.S. Whoever pulled that fire alarm: Don’t do it again. Thanks.