Some people have it made. Their parents save money to help finance their education. They ‘go away’ to college leaving their childhood behind in one neat package.
When you live at home while going to school things are different. Wall, actually they aren’t. Its almost the same as high school. Except suddenly you have friends that want to go do things that weren’t allowed as a youngster. Like go to clubs.
I am a total homebody. But, sometimes when friend says it will be fun, and its for a birthday, you decide sure lets go to clubs. None of us will be drinking, and we will go early enough that it will be pretty tame. Right?
Wrong. Don’t get me wrong, the club was fine. There was one couple that needed a room, and the place was sort of stinky, and dirty. But it was fine. We danced, we laughed, and we enjoyed ourselves. I was home around midnight. (Honestly, midnight isn’t that late, but remember its different when you live at home).
My father met me at the door and accused me of smoking. I don’t know why he would think I started smoking, I had never tried it before and didn’t even know many people who smoked. Sure I smelled like smoke, but this was the day before smoking bans in public places. Even going to the bowling alley would result in the stench of the fag.
I was angry. It was the beginning of my second semester of college. My parents were telling me I was kicked out of the house, and I didn’t even have a chance to explain anything. Saying I was at a club was the worst thing i could have said. It was as if I said “I decided to become a crack whore tonight. I now smoke, drink illegally, and am a slut whore. You have failed as parents.” I didn’t have any other option. I was an ‘adult’ and living there by their good graces. I had to get out.
I found myself the next morning looking into life options. I had a barely part time job that gave me minimal spending money, no savings, and no rental history. I was broke and young, a combination that is usually not to your advantage in situations like this.
My mother tried to tell me to move into the dorms. In the middle of the semester. Getting a student loan to pay for it. My father wasn’t talking to me. And here I was. Eighteen with no car for transportation, no friends houses, not even a cell phone (then again that was before everyone had cellphones). I didn’t have any way to get away from it all.
Want to know what happened? Stay tuned for part 3: house hunting and roommates.