The college housing scene is a peculiar one. In many places, you can simply land in a city, look up places for rent and go out and rent them. In Columbus, I discovered, you have to know everything about a place you want to lease (at least) seven months in advance of next fall. Even the lucky ones have a hard time renting a decent place after March, as everyone gets pressured by landlords to sign leases as soon as leaves are falling and street sweeping has ended.
Because I’m a senior, I find myself oddly calm in the flurry of renting season this year. Instead of worrying when I’ll find time to run out and get to a showing, I’m slowly and carefully pondering moving out. When will I do it? How long will it take? Should I leave the beds for last in case it takes more than a day? How much will the U-Haul truck cost me, and where am I going to put all this crap?
This last question is the worst, most depressing one of all. Wherever I go, I will be taking roughly a third to half of the contents of my home with me in a big, obnoxious truck that I will be constantly paranoid about driving. Even worse, I won’t be taking another half to two thirds of the stuff that I’ve become comfortable around and even, in some cases, depended on.
My roommate’s Xbox 360 and PC, two machines that have soaked up months of my free time, will be gone forever. My saved games in “Mass Effect” and “Resident Evil 5” will be inaccessible to me forever more. All those items jealously hoarded, all that ammo stockpiled endlessly, mean nothing and will mean nothing forever once I leave them with their rightful owner. This is why sharing sucks.
The crappy TV me and my roommates spent a month straight watching “Ninja Warrior” on will be gone too, probably thrown away. It was struggling then, and in the age of digital TV and HDMI cables it’ll probably just keel over hopelessly any minute.
Worst of all, my compiled kitchen will be gone, and I’ll be returned my rightful assortment of now-worn pots and pans. They’ll all go into a clattering box to be re-opened, an incomplete set of a few skillets, one ancient pot and dozens of forks and knives. What am I going to do on my own, away from Columbus, with all that silverware and practically nothing to cook in? Sit around a new apartment in a strange city and fork up Chinese food, I guess.
It’s funny coming from an out-of-towner, but I’ll miss the comfort of Columbus. I’ve cobbled together a home in this funny half-city, half-university town, and the thought of putting all that in boxes and loading them up to go to Chicago, Los Angeles or Boston really puts into perspective how much OSU has made me a Columbus kid.
I’ve got to spend the rest of this year not worrying about all the junk I’ll be leaving behind or throwing away (A “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” movie poster? I don’t know how it hasn’t been thrown away already…), and instead just relishing my time in the city, now that I finally realize how much I appreciate it. I’m going to go to out of the way cafés, eat at the Happy Greek and the Taj Mahal (damn the expense), see a show at the Newport and catch incomprehensible theater at the Wexner Center for the Arts.
I’m going to soak up as much of Columbus as I can so I don’t have to worry about leaving things behind and regretting it. After all, you can’t throw away good memories, even if you can throw away good posters.
