A Day in the Life of CoRo

Prologue:

What you are about to read is a first-hand account of life in Hell on Earth. This is a rare glimpse behind the iron curtain, into one of Boston College’s most closely guarded and shameful secrets: College Road a.k.a. CoRo. Few have dared to even set foot on this hallowed hill, much less interact with its inhabitants. The tale of woe that follows is 100% true, and is not for the faint of heart. I write this knowing full well that I am liable to be put before the firing squad by the BC administration. But I just can’t sit idly by anymore, and continue to be silenced. I will not perpetuate this lie any longer. CoRo is not the quaint, quiet haven that we were led to believe it is. The people need to know the truth, and I will be the one to give it to them, whatever the cost. May God have mercy on my soul. Here goes:

Each day starts the same. I arise in a panic, nearly drowning in a pool of my own sweat, as I scream myself awake. In fairness, this has less to do with Coro, and more to do with the dark and shocking nature of my dreams. My eyes adjust in the darkness, and I quickly glance around the room and take inventory. Two beds, countless fans, a visible wave of heat, and no sunlight. Yep, this is CoRo. I’m still here. This is still real. I emerge from my bed, and head into the hallway, only to see two creepy twin girls on tricycles, beckoning me to play with them forever. I ignore them because they’re ghosts. Coro has its fair share of apparitions; you get used to them after a while. Moving past the girls, I head into the bathroom to reluctantly get ready for the day. As part of the Welch basement bonding initiative, our shower is just a large communal room, but has curtain partitions to ensure moderate privacy. This way, everyone can only kind of see each other’s dicks. If you’re lucky, the shower will be crowded, and the body filth of the gentleman in the shower next to you will wash over your feet. Upon completing the shower, I glance at my reflection in the mirror to ensure that my eyes are still devoid of any hope or joy. They are. I then exit the bathroom, which, in the greatest architectural move of all time, leads directly into the main laundry room for all of CoRo. This presents a great opportunity to showcase your gross, disproportionate, towel-clad body to any attractive girls that may happen to be doing laundry at the time. Next I get dressed, making sure to avoid any bright colors that would give the appearance of happiness. Finally, I head to class.

After struggling to leave the building for 20 minutes, amidst the countless trap doors and staircases to nowhere in Welch (all of CoRo is basically just the house from “The Shining”), I finally manage to stumble outdoors. The sunlight is blinding. Vultures circle overhead, waiting to prey upon any CoRo dweller that just gives up and lies face down on the ground. This happens about twice a day. Upon arrival at class, I make a big show of sitting in the back and having loud conversations about how I got shitfaced the night before and didn’t do the assigned reading so that people know I’m cool. Got to keep your social stock up when you live on Coro. After class has concluded for the day, I head to Mac to grab a bite to eat with my friends and watch the freshman not know how to order food. Upon realizing that I live on Coro and therefore don’t have friends, I reluctantly return to my double in the Welch basement/dungeon to quietly weep into my food. I then spend the rest of the day alternating between the two main CoRo activities of doing laundry and being depressed.

Eventually it’s dinnertime. I grab my unsightly meal of unidentifiable meat and uncooked rice, and sit down with some of my floor mates. I say floor mates and not friends because while we were good friends just two weeks ago, CoRo has broken our spirits to the point that we have been rendered unable to express or feel emotion, and thus connect with other human beings. We eat our meals in silence, the tapping of our plastic silverware being the only noise emitted from our table. Somewhere in the distance, a freshman laughs. Each of us glances at each other knowingly, and internally reminisces about how we had once shared laughs together. It seems so long ago now. The meal concludes, and we exchange curt nods before returning to our respective rooms. This is our only form of communication anymore. My time in the room is short lived however, as my dinner has already begun reeking unspeakable havoc on my insides. I rush to the bathroom, and kick in the door to one of the stalls in order to conduct my business. Our bathroom has only two stalls and two urinals (all of which are in plain view of the laundry room I might add), so you’re almost guaranteed to be next to someone else when voiding your bowels. Again, great bonding initiative. Really brings the boys together. Finally, I retire to my room for the last time and stare blankly at the wall for 10 hours, patiently waiting for the next day to begin. Eventually, exhaustion overcomes me and I mercifully fall asleep, a brief reprieve from the endless, tortuous cycle that is College Road.

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