Living in apartment-side Westwood is something else. Whereas the Hill feels like one of those weird insulated communes you see on Discovery Channel documentaries, apartment-side is the Wild Wild West. It’s be hit by a car, or be the car hitting someone.
(More or less.)
First, a small refresher. Westwood is full of liminal hellscapes. These are places that don’t quite feel real as if you’ve entered a different plane in space and time. Everything about them can feel either a little off or fully heinous. The UCLA Target and the World’s Biggest Ralphs are perfect examples to get you acquainted with my theory.
Strathmore Drive is my latest target. And I’m out for retribution.
Strathmore is one of the main roads of apartment-side, which means it’s generally unavoidable. On the one end of it is Veteran Avenue, which is like the Siberia of apartment-side — far away, cold, another place I’ve never been and don’t plan on visiting anytime soon — and the other end is campus. My apartment sits on Strathmore, which makes this even more personal than my war with our Target and Ralphs. I have to deal with this stuff every single day.
I have to walk up and down that damn street day in and day out, and it never fails to feel like some karmic debt I’ll never pay down.
First of all, no matter what direction you’re going, it’s going to be at a 45-degree angle. Maybe even steeper (who knows, I’m a humanities major.). Strathmore is committed to maintaining the University of Calves, Legs, and Ass. You are never not winded going up its hills. Come rain or shine, Strathmore is there to give you an asthma attack.
It’s so steep, you’ve got to clip in if you want to make it to the summit. I’ll have to sherpa you up. I think incline wise, I could probably climb Everest at this point.
It’s even worse when you’re trying to park. Whenever I see someone trying to parallel park on Strathmore, I send a non-denominational prayer their way. Godspeed soldier. I’m a mediocre driver on a good day, and that’s being generous. One panicked slip of the foot and your 2005 Pontiac Vibe is rolling into the vinyled Tesla in front of you. I cannot understand how some people here manage to park successfully while a dozen judgemental college students (including me) watch for amusement.
Another thing that really gets me is how gross the street can get. Imagine you’re huffing and puffing up the Strathmore hill on an early Friday morning, probably hungover, and Lambda Chi Alpha has gifted the neighborhood with a full, no, overflowing dumpster vomiting its contents into the street. And it always reeks. It doesn’t matter if you hold your breath; this stench lingers. It floats through apartment-side in the early morning, waking everyone up with its foul smell of rotting bacon.
Yum.
More recently, Strathmore has decided to debut a new talent for me to enjoy during my tenancy. It floods! That’s right, I have a lake right outside my apartment. In the last few weeks, Westwood has been underwater. Both Strathmore and the cross-street have dumped gallons of water into the intersection outside my apartment. And with the water covering all the potholes (another lovely trait of Strathmore’s), you have no way of knowing when you might step into a deep chasm and continue on your merry way with one soggy foot.
Super quirky of you, Strathmore.
So, there you have it. Another warning against the liminal atrocities of Westwood. Maybe next quarter we’ll all be a little better prepared to navigate these places, but something tells me Westwood is only just getting started.