Playing the Lottery

THERE'S A CERTAIN look my little sister gives me when my parents are mad at me and I don't know about it. I hesitate to call it a smile, although it looks like one.

I got a lot of those looks Thursday around 3:30 pm. Apparently everyone else already knew my fate.

Number 457. Can you believe it?

Can I believe it?

My lottery form tells me that there are only 1339 people ahead of me. That's 20 times as many people as were in my high school class.

Serious Quad action I was told. Hey, if a tree falls in the Quad, does anybody hear it...

First, let me just tell you that I'm mad. Really mad. I am paying $16,000 a year (or at least my parents are) to go to this place. I think that entitles me to be living on campus. At Harvard, money may talk, but the student still walks, and walks, and walks...

But of course I don't have to go to the Quad. Now that I know my number I'm in control. Right?

For one I could play the martyr and put Cabot down as my first choice. Any fun I'd have there would be like revenge.

Or I could go for the gusto and put Adams first anyway. You know, just to show Harvard that I can't be intimidated.

And then there's the sensible, cop out way. Put either Mather or Dunster first, and Cabot second.

Of course, we'll probably pick the third way. We'll play the part of the good old bourgeoisie. Play the system, don't question it. And then when I find out that I'm in North House anyway, at least I'll know that I tried my best.

But, I do want to ask a favor from rooming groups 1-400. Don't tell the rest of us that there's no use being upset since we can't change the number. Just let us be angry. And if we happen to call you lots of mean and nasty names, don't take it personally. Next year we'll be too far away to give you a hard time anyway.