Hey Cobbers! Let me ask you a simple question: what building do you spend the most time in? Now, like most Cobbers, you have your major (or majors), and they require that you stick to a few specific buildings. Humanities reside in Old Main and the appendages of Knutson; Science kids dwell in Ivers/Jones…you get the idea. This is fantastic if, like me, you hate moving. However for getting to know your surroundings…not so much.
As a freshman I knew I wanted to major in philosophy, which meant I got to know the ol’ Bish-Whip really well. The beautiful German and Norwegian posters are like home to me, and I know which elevator is the fastest for when I have those lazy mornings (every morning, just so you know). I have my spots in specific classrooms, and I know that I can always find a good read on the third floor of Grose. I can find the student bathrooms without a sign, and I can tell you which rooms have desks and which ones have rolly chairs. Yep, rolly chairs. Imagine my surprise when I figured out my psychology classes wouldn’t be in the same building. I had to go to… IVERS-JONES.
Let me start with the fact that I still get lost in Moorhead, and if Concordia weren’t on a single highway from my place, I would not get here in the two and a half hours it takes. I was freaking out on my first day not knowing where Ivers 210 is. I have never made it past the front door. I stand at odds with the most janked up floor/stair system ever. At the entrance, am I on the first floor? The second floor? Are the main floor and first floor two different things? Where are the chairs? I had no idea what was going on. And then I look for a person I know, who I don’t feel totally awkward asking where a classroom is. I walk up the stairs and look around, and oh my god. Is that a giant tiger? What the heck? What kind of place is this? Where are my awkward German posters? Instead, people hopped up on coffee and O-chem surround me on every level. All I see are awkward, wood-paneled walls and stuffed animals. Not even the cute kind. I see kids that are the inhabitants of those tables in DS strewn with eighteen books, a model kit thing, headphones and a deeply worried look.
This was my first excursion into the science buildings. I wanted to cry a little. Everyone was too smart at things I don’t understand. Where were my introverted philosophy kids, my overly concerned social work people, my global language comrades? Gone. Gone were the people I was comfortable with, and here were the people I am usually terrified of in real life. If you see me out there in the great big world of cement and wood paneling, reach out: I’m probably scared. Or trying to count with my fingers.
