Desolate. Dismal. Disappointment. Darnall.
Perhaps placing equal signs between the four D-words would’ve made the alliteration sharper. But I’ll do any pro-Darnall Hall advocates out there a favor by not explicitly degrading the dorm experience. Everyone has an opinion, and — like most opinions — they’re shaped as much by perception as by reality.
I remember looking at the Georgetown University Office of Residential Living website over the summer as an eager, soon-to-be first-year deluding myself that I’d end up in the “best dorm on campus”: New South Hall. You could imagine how my stomach dropped when I read my dorm assignment in August. I went through the entire cycle of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally, acceptance — I accepted my fate.
There were no “miraculous surprises” when I stepped onto campus. Darnall is as run-down as everyone said it would be. But I can say with confidence the majority of the Darnall residents I’ve had the pleasure of talking to have bonded over one thing: the tragic dorm experience that welcomed us all to Georgetown. The very flaws that make Darnall so notorious have also made it one of the easiest places to form friendships — instead of focusing on its flaws, you should embrace Darnall for the community its flaws cultivate.
“Every damn floor.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Nope. Every damn floor.”
That short exchange with someone in one of the Darnall elevators told me everything I needed to know. At first, my impression of the elevators had been remarkably positive: After a long few days of travel, they had saved me from hauling my ultra-heavy boxes and suitcases up six flights of stairs.
But as we all know, first impressions are often wrong. I soon found out they almost always stopped on every single floor, as though a phantom child had mischievously pressed every button before running out. Darnall residents speculate endlessly about why this happens, usually while venting about being late to their 9 a.m. classes thanks to the slower-than-glacier elevators. Some have theorized the wiring is faulty, causing one elevator to stop at every floor that’s been pressed on the other. Others have joked the building is haunted. In one way or another, the elevators are tragic — but at least they gave us, nervous first-years looking to make new friends, something to talk about.
Six floors with 28 rooms per floor — courtesy of a fellow Darnallian who counted the number of rooms as a group went around randomly knocking on people’s doors on the first day.
That’s a total of 168 rooms, all double rooms, meaning approximately 336 individuals occupying the dorm — 336 students dealing with closets growing mold in the corners; bathrooms smelling odd; showers that are either hotter than the sun or colder than ice; and the occasional rat sighting outside. Or maybe it’s simply Darnall’s reputation as the “Dirty D” that’s weighing all of us down. In one way or another, the building’s facilities remain tragic and once again, we Darnallians find ourselves bonding over that very tragedy.
Even the label “Darnallians” makes us sound like we emerged from a war — which, like most of this Viewpoint, is an exaggeration of the true Darnall experience. In reality, our daily frustrations — the rickety elevators, the stinky bathrooms with broken soap dispensers and the rat sightings — may be inconvenient, weird or even scary, but they never fail to bring us together. They make for great late-night conversations while we do our skincare. They encourage us to have lunch with fellow Darnallians we meet on the elevator ride down to Epi’s. Thanks to the endless small-talk topics our facilities provide, we’ve managed to build real personal connections and a sense of community in Darnall.
Those in Darnall should embrace the quirks and continue to let its flaws help them get closer. If you can survive Darnall your first year, then the rest of Georgetown should be a breeze from there, right?
Lucy Jung is a first-year in the McDonough School of Business.