It is hard to believe that only a few months ago, I was sitting at home with my U.Va. transfer student booklet in hand, soaking up knowledge about my new school. After reading dozens of pages about the importance of ritual prayer to Thomas Jefferson, I stumbled upon a section titled “Housing.”
“Hmm ...” I thought. “That’s probably too expensive.”
After a fruitless search for a section called “Dorming,” I returned to the “Housing” section. As it turned out, U.Va. has dormitories in its houses!
I read with enthusiasm about the numerous residence halls around Grounds, but one option in particular caught my eye: Gooch/Dillard. Mostly the Gooch part, of course.
“Gooch?” I thought. “Are they serious? That’s hilarious! I’m living there.” I immediately marked Gooch/Dillard as my first choice on the Housing Division form.
After doing so, I decided to read about what it had to offer. The booklet read: “Gooch/Dillard, conveniently located between Hereford College and the Student Activities Building, offers plenty of amenities: microfridges, two communal kitchens, a laundry room, bedrooms, beds, wastebaskets, an unmarked graveyard and very small rocks are just a few of the luxuries you will experience ...”
A quick Google search confirmed my excitement about microfridges.
“A microwave, freezer and refrigerator all in one?!” I shouted. “Gooch/Dillard, here I come!”
Needless to say, here I am today, typing this article in the comfy confines of my 11-foot-6 by 7-foot-6 single in the great kingdom of Dillard.
Unfortunately, as all of you are no doubt aware, there is a lot of crap going around about Gooch/Dillard. The Negative Nancies of this school are quick to point out Gooch/Dillard’s hefty distance from most everything on Grounds, its aura of loneliness and isolation and its uncanny structural resemblance to a maximum-security prison.
Sure, no one has ever visited my dorm, and yes, I have received many a sigh and roll of the eyes from SafeRide drivers upon telling them my destination, but overall my place of residence has given me more pleasure than pain.
Take, for instance, my dorm’s close proximity to one of the school’s most precious hidden treasures — Runk Dining Hall. Or the fact that I can step outside and saunter among our unique wooded area’s beautiful trees (which, according to legend, were mere saplings before Thomas Jefferson graced the area with his presence). And consider this: How many people on this great Earth can say “I live in Gooch” without sounding like some kind of misguided foreigner? Never before has the word “gooch” taken on such positive connotations. (As opposed to the normal usage of the word.)
Much of the scoffing at Gooch/Dillard comes from the spoiled students who reside in places like GrandMarc, which boasts of its status as a “private luxury apartment community.” The way I see it, aside from a fitness center, a resort-style pool and spa, a game room, private balconies and patios, gourmet kitchens, a convenient location and a movie theater, what does GrandMarc have that Gooch/Dillard doesn’t? Pompousness and arrogance, that’s what.
The greatest things we Goochies have that the GrandMarkians don’t, besides Runk Dining Hall, are the intangibles. I’m talking about heart, character and a proclivity for walking 5.5 times farther than the average American college student.
These intangibles are well illustrated by the age-old fable about the homeless man on the Corner, which tells the story of a starving hobo begging for change outside Christian’s Pizza. According to legend, three students from GrandMarc approached the hobo, one of them saying haughtily, “Why good heavens, what do we have here? Methinks it is, dare I say, a slovenly plebeian searching for some sort of decaying muskrat to munch on!”
Just before they could pounce on the old man, another student emerged heroically out of the shadows. After kicking the bullies’ asses, he handed the old man a key.
“Here you go, old man,” he said. “My suite-mate moved to GrandMarc, leaving his room vacant. Now it’s yours.”
“Bless you,” the old man murmured. “Where do you live?”
“Gooch/Dillard.”
“Oh, hell no,” said the old man, tossing the key into the sewage drain. “I ain’t walkin’ all the way out there!”
The moral of the story is that, unlike the sissies at GrandMarc, we here at Gooch/Dillard are real people, the kind of everyday, blue-collar people you see on the streets giving houses to hobos. GrandMarc can have its ceiling fans and its bamboo-style flooring, because what we have is something way more special: a graveyard. Oh, and pride, of course. Miles and miles of pride.
Nick’s column runs biweekly Fridays. He can be reached at n.eilerson@cavalierdaily.com.
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