With our generation, adulting has become the latest fad. Adult has never before been a verb, but in a world where everything is simplified and done for us, doing things on our own has become much more difficult. The current theme in my apartment is improvisation… I’m a sophomore living in CNU Crossing. Now, I feel that I was a little more prepared than my millennial counterparts, but I know I’m nowhere close to knowing how to do everything on my own. I knew at some point, though, that I would be dealing with adult processes. I certainly was not expecting what I received.
Apparently, maintenance on east campus was struggling this summer because we have had countless incidents that have gone unsolved, while our neighbors have had the most minor of details repaired in a matter of hours. To begin with, we had an outlet cover immediately fixed for the sole reason that my suitemates and I stopped a maintenance specialist on his way out of our neighbor’s apartment because we were nervous of the exposed wires. Our bathroom door automatically locks into place, which is why we have had scotch tape covering the door latch for two weeks. We have had more than four different people inspect our dishwasher to make sure it was, in fact, broken and we were not just doing it wrong. Each of us is finding innovative ways to avoid doing the dishes now.
A day or two after move in I was walking from my room into the common room and stepped on something sharp at the threshold of my door. Not thinking much of it, I rubbed my foot and moved on. A day later I felt the same thing and began looking for the source. I immediately found a rock, threw it out and called it a day. The next day my boyfriend was with me and with his skillful eye began his search. He pointed out at least one nail sticking up from the floor at which point my roommate placed a sticky note tab over it to remind us where it was.
Just Saturday morning I realized I had no toaster to toast my bagel. Because I did not want to burn the house down I looked up how to toast my bagel in an oven instead. Sometimes I laugh at the irony of it. I have my social security number memorized, I can fill out new patient forms without calling my mom, but I did not know I needed to grease the pan before I cooked my egg for breakfast.