Following the University of Delaware’s announcement that long-time freshman dorms Dickinson and Rodney would be closed and the land sold to private developers, former dorm residents and current victims of Stockholm Syndrome expressed regret that the notoriously shitty resident halls were to be torn down.
“It just makes me so sad,” said Dorothy Grambel, whose former pain at living in tiny, cramped rooms had caused her to slowly develop an intense emotional attachment to West Campus. “I have so many fond memories,” she said about the time in her life that, in the moment, was almost unbearably unpleasant.
While rumors that the old, unsanitary, and yet twistedly-cherished dorms would be closed have circulated for some time, formal plans to excise the property that every year seems to get infected with mold have come only recently.
“We understand that many came to love these dorms,” President Patrick Harker said about the place so isolated and filled with despair that residents of Rodney called themselves the Rodjects. “But the university is moving in a direction that, unfortunately, won’t include them,” he continued, talking about the buildings built as cheaply as possible using federal grants in 1966.
While Dickinson is scheduled to remain open for an additional two or three more years, Rodney and Rodney Dining Hall will be gone by next fall, leaving them unable to first torment and then cruelly bond with freshmen one last time.
“I really liked the courtyard,” said Grambel of the despondent grassy gap that evoked vivid images of a mental asylum.
Other former residents, such as now-senior and former Dickinson resident Trevor Lee, agreed with Grambel.
“I mean, who will ever get to walk down Rape Alley again?” said Lee. “You know, that place so loveable we imagined the possibility of being violently, sexually violated every time we passed through.
“To think, no one else will ever have to feel that again. Makes you weep for our future children.”
Administration officials noted that the dorms – despite their small room sizes, distance from the rest of campus, and general decay – managed to elicit enough psychologically-perverted sympathy to rank first in a survey of freshman residencies.
“The rooms were so bad that they actually forced people to go outside, where they met other students who had similarly awful rooms,” explained Alexine Cloonan, project manager of Facilities and Construction. “The students then apparently congratulated the dorms themselves for this, which, I mean, ok…”
West Campus was also conveniently located next to the music complex, which would have been great if all the residents had been music majors. Instead, the distance from the rest of campus fostered an acute sense of isolation which many freshmen mistook for “community.”
Former residents also fondly remembered the Rodney Dining Hall, notorious for its poor quality and also beloved due to an adverse reaction to multiple and consistent instances of abuse. “The food was always a little worse, the staff was always a little meaner, the lights were always a little dimmer,” said Lee.
“Even as I’m saying it, it just fills me with so much joy,” he continued, his ego constructing an illogical rationalization in what psychologists say is a foolish attempt to prevent further suffering at the abuser’s hand.
“West Campus, best campus!” said Grambel, without a hint of irony.