Nachos

by Sanjana Ramchandran ‘22

I swear I don’t have anything against fire alarms. They’re a critical safety feature, especially in beautiful, historic buildings that could hypothetically burn down in less than five minutes (read: every building on campus). But do I like fire alarms going off after 11 p.m. in my dorm room? Not a bit.

I had finished my homework and was lying in bed, listening to music, about to drift off into the sweet oblivion of sleep, when loud screeches jolted me upright. I looked frantically at my two roommates to make sure I wasn’t suffering from exhaustion-induced hallucinations. They seemed as confused as I was, which meant this was really happening. We grabbed our jackets and staggered into the hallway, down the stairs, and out the door of Sev. Other Tower Court residents were already standing across the street, stamping their feet and moaning at the unfairness of it all. Some of them had been showering when the alarm went off and were wrapped in fluffy bathrobes that did not seem to offer much protection against the icy wind. I think my brain must have been operating at half capacity because I had brought my room key and One Card, but had left my phone and lip balm behind in my room. So much for bringing all the essentials. My lips were likely going to wither away from dehydration, but at least I could get back in the building afterwards! 

My hands were lodged so deep in the recesses of my jacket that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to extract them once I was back inside. The alarm’s persistent clangs were joined by a loud rumble as a fire engine climbed the hill towards us. Things had gotten serious. Our best chance now was to pray for the firefighters to save our laptops from certain death. 

One of the best things about living in Sev was that Lulu was ridiculously close by, so we decided to hop over to Café Hoop. Would you rather stand in the freezing Massachusetts air waiting for your dorm to reopen, or escape to someplace warm and full of delicious food? Yeah, I thought so. 

The Hoop was buzzing when we walked in. It looked the same as ever: brightly painted walls plastered with posters, mismatched yet comfy furniture, and upbeat music piping through the speakers. I have a deep appreciation for the co-op’s staff; although they’re always vastly outnumbered by hungry students, they manage to stay perfectly calm and friendly. We ordered Doritos nachos (they’re like regular nachos, except the tortilla chips are substituted for Doritos) and talked while we waited. I don’t remember what our conversation was about, only that I was able to truly focus on what my roommates were saying because I didn’t have my phone to distract me. Even though I had a class at 8:30 the next morning, I didn’t regret being there. Sure, the whole of Tower could have been on fire, but I was safe in my little bubble, with my friends and a heaping plate of nachos. It was lovely. (Pro tip: eat the melted cheese fast. Otherwise it will solidify and stick to the plate, and then you’ll have to desperately scrape it off with a fork. I speak from experience).

I’ve been at home since March, and the longer I spend away from campus, the more moments like this appear at the forefront of my mind. Remote learning is okay for me academically, but I miss the sheer spontaneity of living on campus. I miss looking for a place to sit on the ever-crowded fourth floor of Lulu and inevitably spotting a friend or classmate. I miss finding leftover HoCo cookies—or, in one instance, pancakes!— in the common room and taking a few upstairs for a study snack. I miss slowing down to snap pictures as bunnies hop across the sidewalk. I miss slipping into the back row of Collins Theater just in time for a cult classic movie screening. I miss the little bits of magic that always seem to materialize out of thin air when I’m on campus. 

For anyone who’s off campus right now and feels like something’s missing, like there’s a hole that you haven’t been able to fill, you are completely valid—I feel that way too. For now, memories will continue to sustain me until the day I see our towers and woods and lake again. And although things will be different when we return to campus, I believe that the magic of Wellesley, our home away from home, will never disappear.

Sanjana Ramchandran ‘22 (sramchan) has a bad habit of getting unnecessarily nostalgic. From the September/October 2020 issue.

Featured photo courtesy of Wellesley College Archives.