One day in Cambridge, and I'm already smarter.
I was early (shockingly) to move into my dorm room, which is in the middle of a small, tight brick building with multiple maze-like halls. Someone showed me to my room, in the midst of a jumble of doors and staircases; I stayed there to unpack for a moment, but after ten minutes, I realized I had a problem.
I had no idea how to get out of there. I paced through the labyrinth of halls; went up and down tiny staircases; peeked through locked doors. The only doors with a view outside were clearly marked with DO NOT OPEN. FIRE ALARM WILL SOUND. Apparently these people are deathly afraid of raging fires at any moment, because every single door has a marking about a fire exit--and there is at least one fire extinguisher per hall.
I was deathly afraid of setting off an alarm that the whole college would hear, but this building was getting warmer and warmer and I began to feel more than a little claustrophobic; I suddenly became very passionate about the cruelty of ant farms, bird cages, and fish bowls.
But, alas, my education was already being put to use. I looked around my dorm room, and realized that the windows were able to be opened, and had just enough room . . .
So there you go. I jumped out of a four hundred year old window to freedom, and saved myself from suffocating. Never mind the distance to the ground. Some students saw as they were passing by, so I gave them my best we-do-this-in-America-all-the-time look.
Stay in school, kids.
Cheerio.
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