Ghost town

Allie Weiss:

It begins with the sound of suitcases being rolled toward the Dinky: suitcases that will drag across Penn Station, slumber on a comfortable Amtrak car headed south or lay cramped in the underbelly of a St. Louis-bound airplane.

Rolling suitcases are the sounds of a break beginning, and, with that, the much-needed “I can finally forget about organic chemistry for a few minutes” sigh of relief that comes with any break in our schedule. For many students, this relief signals the Fall Break ideal of going home: “While forgetting about organic chemistry, I can curl up in my bed at home, eat my dad’s famous ravioli and be kissed by my German Shepherd.” (I dare you to try to do all of that at the same time.)

But for others, breaks like Fall Break are not spent curled up at home, but on campus — devoid of comfortable beds, homemade ravioli and cuddly animals (besides those mice that sometimes sneak into your dorm room to nibble on the Cheez-It crumbs embedded in the carpet).

As a Californian, I’ve spent many breaks on campus. And while I do miss my dog (more than you want to know), sometimes the steep airfare and up to 13-hour travel days aren’t worth the cross-country trek. Even so, I genuinely enjoy staying on campus: I don’t have to pack or haul any large suitcases to JFK Airport, and I can finally take time to myself to get my life back in order (Exercise! Sleep! Laundry! All those other things we don’t actually do during the semester!). It is often over break that I restore my love for the Princeton campus. Once I give myself a few days to block out the painful memories of writing midterm papers in Firestone, I realize that our library actually is pretty darn beautiful, and the East Pyne courtyard looks a lot better when I’m not rushing through it to get to precept.

But aside from “stopping to smell the roses,” breaks on campus are not exactly what you’d call luxurious. Janitorial services are less regular in the dorms — toilet paper shortages abound — and students are left foodless, unless you are an underclassman on an unlimited meal plan or choose to pay for two meals a day in a dining hall. The rest of us decide between dumpster diving for leftover scraps of Qdoba burritos or risking a sodium coma on a three-meals-a-day ramen diet. Every day of break I look up the hours of various spots on campus, and, finally, by the end I’ve got it down: Dillon closes at 9:45 p.m., and Frist closes at 10 p.m. (Of all places to be open past 10 p.m. over break, the only one I can find is Firestone. I’ll pass, thanks.)

Thankfully, there’s one saving grace: If you’re going to remain in the Orange Bubble and survive on ramen noodles, at least you won’t be alone. Many athletes, international and long-distance students, organized seniors working on their theses and people who’d rather not spend a week under the close supervision of their parents will be on campus with you. I will always remember Intersession week last January: Though stuck in 08544, I spent the week bonding with old friends and making new ones. There’s nothing like a snow-covered campus with no fresh fruit or vegetables in the vicinity (besides questionable U-Store oranges) and facilities that close at oddly early hours to throw people together and form unexpected friendships. After all, if you’re the only ones left in your building, your next-door neighbor might finally find reason to stop and introduce himself.

Lisa Han:

There! In the corner! See it? It just moved! I take a sideways step toward the closet, my eyes locked to the spot like laser beams, fingers fumbling backward for a shoe — any shoe.

It scuttles under a plastic bag. I stifle a scream. Slowly, robotically, I lift the bag, position the shoe, squeeze my eyes shut and ... BAM! It’s done! It’s dead! And I didn’t so much as squeal.

Normally, this would never happen. In a room with four other female roommates, a 3 a.m. cockroach visit means screaming, hysterical laughter and 20 massive adrenaline-filled minutes of brainstorming. But today, I’m alone. There’s no one to hear my screams, no one to lend a shoe and no eyes on the enemy but my own. It’s Fall Break, and this time I’m just going to have to suck it up.

This, among other reasons, is why spending Fall Break on campus to me means spending as little time as possible in my room. Without classes to worry about, it’s easy as a Princeton student to revel in the prospect of doing absolutely nothing. But without my closest friends around, I’m at an utter loss of how to live my life independently.

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Some people would disagree. Some people talk to me about how much they love “alone time,” how they are going to catch up on two seasons of “Breaking Bad” in two days or how they’re going to spend break “working ahead on their JPs.” I scoff at the idea. No, I say; that’s just not me. I need excitement! I need activity! And yes, that includes constant supervision.

Thankfully, even without my roommates to keep me company, I realized this year that breaks don’t have to be so disturbingly desolate. There are other people out there just like me who are longing for ways to enjoy the company of others. The key is understanding where to look.

Let’s debunk one myth right now: Frist sucks. Unless people are getting meals at Cafe Viv, this is a depressing place to be over break. The tables are sparse, save the few people studying in the booths, and, if you don’t feel like spacing out on the couch facing the TV, you better bring something to do.

I ended up spending the majority of my free time in Terrace (of which I am a member), getting to know the group of stragglers who similarly needed a homey place to work and eat. When I wasn’t there, I was aggressive with my texting. Even if she’s just an acquaintance you pass by on campus from time to time, chances are most people will appreciate a meal buddy.

But if you’re not in an eating club, don’t worry. You can count on seeing hoards of students at Panera and Qdoba during pretty much any time. And when you’re really desperate for some familiar faces, odds are that you’ll find them in Firestone or at the gym.

Still, if you’re anything like me, you might consider the following questions: Why study in a sterile desk at Firestone when you can study on a cozy couch at the public library? Why run at the gym when you can run outside? Why eat U-Store sushi when you can order takeout from Mehek? Why watch TV alone when you can try painting at the Wilson art studio?

My basic conclusion is that being on campus without your closest friends is depressing. But the older you get, the easier it becomes to find ways to bond with new people. You might even enjoy your “alone time” if you’re doing it in the right places. And, like a new puppy, there’s still nothing better than seeing those familiar faces back where they belong at the end of the week.