Beginning Senior Year at the Oak Terrace
Oak Terrace. It's a name well-suited for a quaint retirement home, or perhaps a manor — with vistas overlooking verdant fields in southern Georgia. Maybe even a bed and breakfast, one where tea is served all afternoon and a lazy white cat naps in the windowsill.
My new apartment complex, sadly, is a travesty of its name. "Oak Terrace" ill-befits the primitive and dilapidated stature. Paper thin walls mean smells and sounds waft freely between A-1 and A-2, and an ephemeral soundtrack — dogs barking or neighbors' gasping for breath within paroxysms of passion.
Oh yeah, there's also no central AC. Three window units are determined sufficient to adequately cool the apartment, and sadly there's not one in the kitchen. Cooking at Oak Terrace makes me pity the colonial housewife who tended ovens in the heat of summer, dressed in about 16 layers of linsey-woolsey petticoats, overcoats, undercoats, aprons, scarves, and wool unmentionables. I can't bare even cooking a Tombstone pizza without wearing only my unmentionables.
There's no dishwasher, which means crusty leftovers must be hand-nurtured off the dishes. Outlets are rare. There's only two in the kitchen — both located opposite the counter — and only one in the bathroom, which is curiously located on the light fixture.
But living in a building better suited to life in the '60s brings a nostalgic comfort. It's a feeling that you're following in the footsteps of those who've come before. I estimate about 150 students have lived in this apartment, opened these windows, trekked to class and Franklin Street, and have stressed over tests, graduation, and finding a job.
These walls have housed and comforted so many uncertain students. Like the oak it's named after, it stands strong with a beautiful maturity, so refreshing in our disposable world.
My new apartment complex, sadly, is a travesty of its name. "Oak Terrace" ill-befits the primitive and dilapidated stature. Paper thin walls mean smells and sounds waft freely between A-1 and A-2, and an ephemeral soundtrack — dogs barking or neighbors' gasping for breath within paroxysms of passion.
Oh yeah, there's also no central AC. Three window units are determined sufficient to adequately cool the apartment, and sadly there's not one in the kitchen. Cooking at Oak Terrace makes me pity the colonial housewife who tended ovens in the heat of summer, dressed in about 16 layers of linsey-woolsey petticoats, overcoats, undercoats, aprons, scarves, and wool unmentionables. I can't bare even cooking a Tombstone pizza without wearing only my unmentionables.
There's no dishwasher, which means crusty leftovers must be hand-nurtured off the dishes. Outlets are rare. There's only two in the kitchen — both located opposite the counter — and only one in the bathroom, which is curiously located on the light fixture.
But living in a building better suited to life in the '60s brings a nostalgic comfort. It's a feeling that you're following in the footsteps of those who've come before. I estimate about 150 students have lived in this apartment, opened these windows, trekked to class and Franklin Street, and have stressed over tests, graduation, and finding a job.
These walls have housed and comforted so many uncertain students. Like the oak it's named after, it stands strong with a beautiful maturity, so refreshing in our disposable world.
(We furnished our apartment with free or found furniture. It's kinda funny, "Oak Terrace" so perfectly describes our interior decor.)
These steel hangers are utilized with hygienic equipment in the bio-tech, pharmaceutical, food, beverage and dairy industries. Our hex pipe hangers are essential to PVF installations, supporting BPE style stainless steel and copper tubing, schedule pipe, PVC coated pipe, conduits and instrumentation lines.
ReplyDelete