Bri Nitsberg | Managing Photo Editor

So, you’ve been placed in a traditional suite. The world is over. You can feel the panic creeping in, and your roommates are random, so you don’t know who you’ll spend the next nine months with. 

Well, two random suitemates turned friends are writing this for you, so know it’s not all catastrophic. We’re here to give you a glimpse into your next few months and convince you it really will be okay. Let’s start as early as memory allows.

You’re two weeks in, a floor-to-ceiling dent has appeared in your wall, and the boys’ suite next door leaks Old Spice into the hall. You have to brace yourself for the noise the toilet makes after each use, and the whole building reverberates from the thrum of the plumbing. Objectively, not everything is perfect, but solidarity with your suitemates goes a long way.

A month in, and the common room wall slowly fills with the suites’ academic achievements, club acceptances, and ridiculous quotes marked on post-it notes. Your suite was the only one with enough space to throw a birthday bash for your new friend, which increases both your (and all your friends’) appreciation for the traditional layout. Rearranging the furniture is a collective late-night anxiety outlet, and the bean bag chairs serve as makeshift beds where people can crash; the suite is on its way to being a true hub for your social life. Cards Against Humanity, Twister, and old Pangea game boards lay across the coffee table, remnants of late nights. You invested in a projector with your suitemates, and nights are now filled with movie nights, F1 races, and baseball games, eliciting shrieks of laughter and despair. 

Two months in, and your food stash has evolved to a point where you can go for weeks without stepping foot inside BD. Coffee sits freshly brewed in the refrigerator each night, ice cream concoctions await in the freezer, and the steaming scent of fresh rice fills the suite weekly. Your lives have gotten busier, but the dining table in the middle of the common room brings you together at odd hours, providing the perfect space for sporadic debriefs.

Three months in, and you’ve finally invested in some communal dorm decor. Felted garlands are strung, lights dangle atop the balcony railing, and painted pumpkins signify the arrival of fall. The noisy plumbing doesn’t cross your mind; instead, you start thinking of this space as a home. You’ve even befriended the Old Spice guy from down the hall.

We understand that you’re worried, and it’s not unfounded. For many, the quality of WashU housing is a real draw, and feeling like you got the short end of the stick so early in an overwhelming transition is bound to feel luckless. But we’re not here to tell you how to make a traditional dorm a good situation. We’re saying it already is one.