Chicken Noodle Soup came on and I got crunk.
Driving 60 miles per hour down the highway, 85 mph if we’re being honest, straight jamming with my scalp roasting under my opened sunroof.
The entire ride had been nothing, but uneventful shifts between A/C and the vent. My mom told me not to use the A/C and since I had character, I was determined to disobey minimally, so I took turns. But, when Chicken Noodle Soup came on a girl forgot about the fact she was soaked in her own sweat.
“I let it rain. I clear it out. I let it rain. I clear out”
I’m behind the wheel getting it. Making it rain with my spirit fingers and clearing it out with the flick of a wrist. Swerving from the yellow line on my left to the white dotted line on my right. I was on my way to an HBCU. It’s about time I got a little hype.
North Carolina Central University is a new experience for me. I’m at a predominately African American institution with few white people. Melanin, fros, Brazilian body waves, and long braids are plentiful. I am around Black people. The environment is positive. We are working toward a greater goal, a brighter future. We are successful. We are learning. We are here.
I was in phase one of relocating: Excitement.
As I arrived at the institution, from a four-hour drive, my level of excitement dropped with each bead of sweat. I realized I had no idea what I was doing. I had received no instruction at all prior to my arrival and lines to get anywhere were ridiculously long. I knew my mom was unhappy about being up creek without a paddle, so naturally I was under pressure to make this process go as smoothly as possible. With each car and each line, I saw a new bump in my “smoothing over.”
40 minutes later, I learned my first HBCU lesson: everybody is on CP time. For the people unsure about the meaning of “CP,”, just know it’s a twilight zone level time warp where 1:00 pm is the equivalent of 1:45 pm or later. Apparently all of the students were assigned arrival times, something I never received, but had all decided to follow CP time and flood in that afternoon.
I edged forward slowly, relieved to be near the front of the line. A brown skin girl with long black braids approached my driver’s side window in her gray “Move-In Day Volunteer” shirt.
“Hey, how are you?” I asked.
“Hey there. What’s your building?”
“I’m in Chidley”
“Okay pull forward”
Good news: we were actually in the right line.
I cruise up to the tent, where another woman asked for my name. “Ivey Johnson,” I said as she skimmed through her paper list. Apparently, my housing assignment switched at the last minute and I hadn’t been notified. At that point, my mom’s irritation quickly became mine. My mom had a four-hour drive home, it was hot, I still had to unpack, and the day was pushing 4 o’clock. I looked up my new housing assignment and asked three different people for directions to get there. Each person barely exceeding the level of information provided by his or her predecessor. About 20 minutes later, I receive directions to the proper parking for my new dorm. Everything was such a hassle.
Alas, we made it to the right lot. I I jumped out of the car, standing and then crumpling as my body tried to shake off the stiffness from sitting in the car five hours.
A tall guy with dark chocolate skill and low cut, gently approached asking if I need a shuttle to my building. I say yes, yes to the fact somebody is finally offering to help me and knows what his information. At 5 o’clock he said we arrived at the right time, the move in day volunteers were about to call it a day. More good news, right?
(Me on Move-In day | Photo creds: My madre)
He and some other volunteers unloaded my massive cargo load from my car onto the back of a silver Ford pickup truck. Seeing all my stuff shoved into a variety of wine boxes I had managed to score last minute, and plastic bins looked as if I had severely over packed. Realizing that I hadn’t over packed, brought a sadness. I was really four hours away from everything I knew. My home, my baby, my U of SC, my friends were all four hours away. The volunteers hopped in the truck and we, having not have done this all day, climbed in behind. The tall guy with dark chocolate skin drove through the campus and dropped me off at my brick dorm. The outside didn’t look to shabby. It wasn’t Chidley, but it wasn’t horrible either.
The volunteers including the dark chocolate guy, started unloading my stuff, while my mom and I went to get my key. Things were looking up… until I check in at the front desk of my room only to find out they’d given my room away. A botox gone wrong type of scowl visibly appeared on my face. Not only have I downgraded from the new, suite style dorm to the community style dorm, but I’m presently out of a room. Taking this institution serious was becoming harder by the minute.
After 10 minutes and two phone calls, the resident advisors get me into the handicap room on the first floor. As I walked from the lobby into the the dorm, I saw a bathroom door and knew there was a problem. I was in a community-style dorm with a public restroom. A public restroom without proper ventilation (literally, we rely on open windows for clean air), open plumbing, and black mold above the showers. I put on my best smile and excitement face, and went to my room where my mom had already unlocked the door and started perusing. I rounded the corner into my room and she turned to face me, visibly unimpressed.
By seven at night, I had finally finished unpacking and had missed the first event on campus--- the comedy show and you know I love some funnies.
Hoping for better days!
XO,
-Ivey