Overrun with feverish heat, sticky humidity, and unforeseen downpours of rain, last week was a period that nothing could have prepared Amanda Roosa ’16 for. Here’s how it all went down.
Monday: First day of classes. At 10:53, I begin my walk to Exley and the sun shines intrusively in my face, making me struggle. The trusty weather app on my smartphone says it is a solid 91 degrees Fahrenheit. My calves burn as I make my way up the hill from Church Street toward Exley. I’ve already broken into a sweat and I now know what the sixth circle of Dante’s Inferno feels like: that place where the soul dies with the body. Parts of my soul have definitely been sweated out. I don’t think I’m going to make it but the thought of air conditioning keeps me going and I find myself at the doors of Exley. Someone opens the door and I am hit with a blast of cool air. The portions of my soul that haven’t wicked off my body yet rejoice. I am a real person again; I have blissful A/C for a solid 50 minutes. Tomorrow’s weather forecast holds no hope of respite.
Tuesday: Day two of classes. It is 95 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Surrounding elementary schools have closed for the day due to overwhelmingly high temperatures. We as a student body have reached the inner circle of the seventh circle of hell. It is a violent and blasphemous thing. Fiery rain might as well be falling from the sky. I seek refuge indoors as much as possible and, believe it or not, I look forward to my classes because I know they will have air conditioning. I loiter in Exley and Usdan when I am not in class, giving death glares to those with air-conditioned housing. Eventually I go back to my wood frame house because I have to sleep. The house is literally swollen with heat: All the cupboards are stuck shut, and the walls radiate angrily at me. I did not know I was living in a sauna. I do not recommend this to anyone. The fan in my room buzzes loudly and continuously. Sleep evades me.
Wednesday: Day three is six degrees cooler than yesterday. Feeling good. Feeling good enough to go to bar night. It is now 11 p.m. The night is humid and the air is heavy but I am foolishly optimistic. My friends and I head into the bar. We are immediately assaulted with the smell of perspiration and alcohol. We go to order drinks, but it is too crowded. Everyone’s personal space is at stake; everyone’s sweat mingles a little more than intended. My hair sticks to the back of my neck, and even though no one has spilled a drink on me yet, I feel sticky. I have made a grave mistake. Why did I think this was a good idea? Exley and Usdan, my air-conditioned safe havens, lulled me into a false sense of security. I am dismayed by my colossal lapse in judgment. I turn to go back outside but someone dumps his or her drink on me, and I am ashamed that all I can think is how cool the liquid feels on my skin. I walk home sticky and weary.
Thursday: Sweet, sweet relief! 78 degrees. The day starts off noticeably cooler, with the sun peeking out from scattered clouds. I head to my 9 a.m. class in Shanklin, thrilled that I can wear a cardigan. I leave my class at 10:20 a.m. only to find that the skies have opened up into torrential downpours. Rain globs the size of ping-pong balls fall forcibly from above. Woefully unprepared, I begin my long walk across campus towards my job in admissions. What would have otherwise been sweat due to heat is now replaced by wetness due to rain. By the time I reach admissions I am soaked and miserable. I head into the air-conditioned building only to find myself hit with chilly air. I am cold, damp, and waterlogged. What was once my safe-haven is now my worst enemy. Eventually I dry off, only to have to reenter the storm and walk home at the end of my shift. The night calls for a hot shower, Netflix, and chilling.
Friday: It is an overcast day with a cool chill to the air. I am relieved at the temperature but less than thrilled by the lack of sun. There is no winning in this game of weather. However, it is Friday and there is the promise of no class the next day, which automatically boosts my mood. As soon as my classes are over for the day, the weather becomes irrelevant because it is the weekend. As Rihanna would say, “Cheers to the freakin’ weekend.”
“Routines” is a new column that features la vie quotidienne.
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