A tale told by an idiot

No home-court advantage for students

by Michael Canan

I lived in The Convo when I was a freshman.

When I tell people this, I get three possible reactions: 1."People live in The Convo?" 2."Oh, that must have been cool," or 3."I heard that sucks."

The first two responses are common misperceptions. Yes, people live in The Convo, and no, it is not cool.

The Convo is the worst place to live on the entire campus.

First, the rooms are more like hamster cages for four unlucky students. Every room in The Convo is a quad, and every room is not big enough for four students to live. The drab concrete block walls might as well be iron bars to a medieval dungeon, and there are only two tiny windows that slant open to let in wisps of fresh air.

The rooms might be big enough if they weren't set up in the most awkward fashion possible. Basically, the living space is a giant 'H'. The bunk beds jut from the walls to create an aisle similar to the Strait of Gibraltar. Two desks are implanted on the backside of the bunks to form a back wall for the beds. The other two desks are on the opposite wall. The beds and desks cannot be moved, so this clumsy structure is permanent.

The two "separate" rooms created by the beds are far from separate. The beds do not prevent the obnoxious sounds of the Jerry Springer Show (even with the volume turned low) from seeping across the divide.

While the echoes of Springer late at night are an inconvenience, the blaring sound of the Marching 110 at 10 a.m. on Saturdays is a headache. The band practices for football games near The Convo, and when the game is scheduled at noon Convo residents get an early wake-up call.

Basketball season provides little relief, however. The Convo starts rocking at around noon on several Saturdays during the season. Basketball games interrupt far more than sleep, though. The room echoes with loud cheers that disrupt even the most studious students.

But the biggest problem with The Convo is the environment it creates. The Convo's halls are marked by doors to different mods. Within the doorways, each mod then has two rooms downstairs and two upstairs. This isolation from the beaten path of the hallway does not promote social interaction. Last year in Scott Quad, I would walk down the hall stopping at nearly every room with an open door to at least say, "Hi." This is impossible with The Convo's setup.

I lived with two of my best friends in The Convo, but they were my roommates. We were isolated in our dungeon, left to play PlayStation until we were exhausted. Other than those two, I can count on one hand the number of Convo residents I talk to on a regular basis.

But the separation of the mod system also provides a helpful noise barrier that keeps resident assistants and security aides at bay. The Convo allows residents to get a little loud and crazy - helpful when you are a freshman trying to avoid that silence-inducing, nerve-wracking knock.

Also, interesting things happened at The Convo that would have been impossible at other residence halls. For example, a friend sledding down the stairs in our mod, my roommates telling the Papa John's phone operator that we lived on the basketball court, and watching a friend roller skate around the circular hallways.

But the negative aspects of living in The Convo far outweigh the rewards.

My only suggestion to poor unfortunate students stuck there is to make the most of the few benefits, such as air-conditioning and isolation. Also, PlayStation is a good way to get through the drudgery that life in the dungeon creates.

Ohio University needs to help these students somehow. The best way would be to remove the residences from The Convo. The university also could alter the living arrangements to create a more student-friendly environment. Putting in cedar chips and a running wheel for its human hamsters would be a start.

- Canan dedicates this column to his Convo buddies who stayed up with him until 3 a.m. playing NBA Live. Send him an e-mail at mc298898.