Last fall quarter, my first quarter at Davis, I moved into the Green at West Village: a little, corporate-looking amalgamation of E-shaped buildings in a quiet corner just west of the UC Davis campus. The Green is mostly home to transfer students, but also includes some second-year transfers as well as some re-entry students.
Truth be told, I was not overly fond of living on campus when I came to Davis. The apartment comes with furniture, but it’s tacky (both figuratively and literally). Having a residential advisor (RA) when you’re already entering your last year of college feels unnecessary, and I die a little inside every time I pay $1.50 for one load of laundry.
But one day during Fall Quarter, I invited a friend of mine over, and as we were walking down the mismatched, colored hallway of the third floor in 298 Celadon, he asked me,
“Don’t you want to live in a real apartment?”
Sure, I did. And though he hadn’t been all that specific, I knew what he meant by a real apartment: no RA, no plasticky furniture; he meant something more official. And I did want to live in a “real” apartment — until he said that.
Against my better judgment and above my expectations, I got defensive of the Green.
I’ll be the first to admit that there isn’t anything to love about the Green at first. But the cracks are how the light gets in. The stiff sofa in my living room remains basically untouched by my roommates and me, but the rest of the furniture isn’t so bad. A desk, nightstand, dining room table and chairs, side table for the living room, and a full-size bed. Certainly a step up from the extra-long twin bed at my previous university.
My RA is quiet and keeps to herself. It’s not like freshman year, when they make rounds sniffing out misbehavior. I awkwardly shared an elevator ride with my RA and two bottles of champagne in my arms the evening before Picnic Day. I didn’t even remember who she was until she replied to my question (“What floor?”) with, “Third, please.” But she said nothing about the champagne, and that’s the extent of my interactions with her.
Sometimes people complain about the Green being far from campus. My mom, as well, was certain I’d be sorry for denying her offer of one of those godforsaken electric bikes. If you’ve got a bike (and, I should add, if you can bike well) or if you can take the bus, getting to campus takes less than 10 minutes (Kudos to those who walk!).
Even as I defended the Green, a few of my friends were starting to consider other options, and I became curious too. I searched for places off campus with a group of friends, and then, when that arrangement didn’t work out, another friend and I began looking for a two-bedroom place close to campus. The rent prices weren’t any we could agree with, and after a week or so of dropping the matter, I re-signed my lease with the Green.
I have come around to the Green more and more as my time here at Davis continues, but there was one thing in particular about the Green that made it worth staying: the community I have found here.
I was surprised by a knock at my door one night and met a girl who put my roommates and me into one big group chat someone had made for the Green. This girl is now one of my closest friends here, and this group chat for the Green has become our main hub of communication and friendship.
If it weren’t for the Green and for this group chat, I wouldn’t have met my best friends; I wouldn’t have gone rock-climbing during the first week with a group of girls or started playing poker with a group of guys. Living in the same apartment building as all of your friends is a pretty sweet deal that I just couldn’t give up.
The group chat has more practical uses, too. Fire trucks are, for some reason, always outside one of the buildings at the Green, and someone usually takes the liberty to notify everyone in the group chat about the situation. We barter (I’ll give you five packs of Sour-Patch Watermelons for two limes), we borrow things from each other (Does anyone have a vacuum I can use?) and it’s a lovely system that makes me feel closer to the people I share the building with. I borrowed some nail polish remover from a kind girl on the fourth floor once, and when I told her I’d be right back to return it, she smiled and said: “Just keep it”.
I still die a little every time I pay for laundry, and I don’t think I’ll ever use my sofa for anything more than a place to sit while I wait for the oven to pre-heat or water on the stove to boil. The Green is nothing to be enthusiastic about on the surface, but after living here for seven months and making so many memories and friends, I can’t deny the soft spot I’ve developed for it.
Besides, you get a pretty clear view of all the seasonal sunsets, sunrises and constellations out on the field by the parking lot. That’s something I couldn’t trade for anything else.