the happy conservative

I hate living on campus.

I lived on campus my freshman year, part of a terrible social experiment designed to get you out of your box. As with most social experiments, it was a colossal failure that the private sector could have done for half price.

I had a little board on my door, upon which one of my least favorite co-residents once wrote the words “heterosexist extraordinaire.” He was gay, naturally, and exhibiting what I would deem a very close-minded approach to my own sexual orientation. But really, why should I be so quick to judge. In the spirit of the open-minded college atmosphere, I thought nothing of it.

Until he stood outside my closed door and spoke ill of my dress, manner, and accent. And oh wait, he went ahead and drug my ideals through the mud as well. “Did you see the shorts he wore the other day?”

Now I might have expected no better from a small town bigot. I might have expected this from someone who bills himself as heterosexist extraordinaire. But of someone who demands recognition for a lifestyle out of the norm (even at Washington U.) I had expected a little reciprocation.

But it’s not really about equality, is it? It’s about anger and fear. Anger that his way wasn’t on top, and fear of competition.

And that ended my social experiment. I retreated from my freshman floor, and speak to most of them only when my luck is really bad. There were one or two that I really liked, but it was tough to develop that with RAs forcing floor bondage and the Backdoor Bandit scribbling slurs on my marker board.

Naturally, I solved this by putting up pictures of corn, combines, and my beautiful small town girlfriend (now Mrs. Hurst and quite an agreeable roommate).

So much for experiments with diversity.