The florescent-lit basement lounge of my dorm is an interesting place, to say the least. It’s a little bit overwhelming to all my senses: sight, smell, sound, touch, and taste. Here’s what I am experiencing.

I see:

• an old microwave, with :30 left on it (because why press the clear button?)
• a rice cooker that probably nobody has ever used (considering it’s still in its box, that’s a safe guess)
• a mug with the words “Victor” and “Clarion University” on it (note: not my college)
• some dirty cookie pans (as per college tradition)
• three beautiful Macs that also go unused (everyone has their own laptops, duh)

I smell:

• One of the strangest musty smells I’ve ever experienced. It’s rather inexplicable, but imagine a mixture of the inside of a washing machine, moldy cheese, and whiskey

I hear:

• The State of the Union Address, for which some girls kicked the Tuesday night Pretty Little Liars crowd out of the lounge, at which point one of the vacating PLL fans said, “Who wants to watch the State of the Union? I don’t even know what that is!” making me sigh and feel 1) appalled that she is of voting age and I am not and 2) like she should probably watch the State of the Union
• My friend Gillian murmuring in French to herself as she completes her homework
• The very soft wail of Ke$ha’s “Timber” escaping from the earphones of the girl next to me, who is simultaneously writing poetry in Spanish (I wouldn’t be able to do that–and by “that” I mean listen to that song, not write poetry in one language while listening to music in another, although that’s also one of my weak spots)

I touch:

• My keyboard of my white MacBook, which unfortunately shows all the dirt so I feel gross typing yet fortunately shows all the dirt so I remember to clean it

I taste:

• Nothing, although the following is a list of what is currently in the communal refrigerator (I always check whenever I come in here, because it’s always the weirdest combination of things):
• Uncooked pierogis, hot salsa and nacho cheese, sandwiches from Wegman’s that have been there for who knows how long, an uncovered salami log, French onion dip, two packages of ranch that came with someone’s hot wings order, and a jar of something called bay bolete-whole that looks terrifyingly unfamiliar

The lounge is an interesting place to be, to say the least.