OLD CAMPUS DORMS, RANKED
The Yeasty Catheter & Jay-Zesty
First, a note from your superior overlord upperclassmen:
Dear Freshmeat (First-Meat?),
The sorting hat has done its duty and permanently placed you into an incredible group of scholars, possibly featuring that “international” kid who gets drunk and falls asleep under the American flag, or that DS roommate who makes messy love to what he calls “exotic” women every other night. What did you expect from a kid who reads exclusively white male authors? Those of you lucky enough to end up liking who you live with are surely exiled to District 12 (TD). I’m convinced Yale stacks it with the students they sense have the very lowest standards (fine, the most “tolerant and accepting”)–’cause how are they not sick of each other? Apart from those animals confined to the incestuous suburbs of Murray & Franklin, you will all get the opportunity to mingle on Old Campus. Here is an objectively perfect and absolutely indisputable ranking of those dorms:
Durfee Hall
Durfee has it all. High ceilings, abundant singles, and even single-bed dorm rooms. Durfee is also the traditional home to the finest morsel of Yalies: rich Rory Gilmore stans who get their parents to bribe a transfer so they can feel like the true main character in their Yale fantasy. Wake the fuck up. A hundred thousand Yalies have come and gone since then, and none of them, including you, are special. Our best advice for first-years less than thrilled with their roommates is to start frequenting the Morse dining hall–you’re sure to find an eligible Yalie with a sliver of their twin bed to offer as a second residence. You could even have the honor of stretching the very same springboards as hotties Anderson Cooper and Usha Vance (50 Most ‘06). The one downside: you may come home to find the dorm crawling with climbing team losers trying to traverse the building. Just pull them off the walls, and spray it down with water - they’ll leave you alone.
Lawrance Hall
Lawrance is pretty nice. It has a good view. There are lots of Stiles people, which is fine. Beware of the water supply, though, and try to stay on your suitemate’s good side. Arm yourself with a fire extinguisher only as a last resort (wink, wink, poisoner). The basement can only be described as a cross between an exterminator’s wet dream and a weed dungeon. Thank fuck the only things that live down there are rats, roaches, and Rumpus’s abandoned bong.
Welch Hall
Ah, yes, the home of the sickest people on campus. Literally. My good friend Fauci tells me that the Yague started in the thralls of the Welch Wet Market after a DPort dipshit fucked an Edonite and a DKE brother in the same night and spliced a new variant. Welch is honestly great, 10/10 would recommend - best sex of my life. I miss her. I like beer. Personally, I can recommend the Princess suite but don’t get any misconceptions about how you’ll get treated.
Bingham Hall
Bingham could’ve easily been higher on this list: an elevator, secret library, and free ice cream in the chaplain’s office are all enviable. But alas, Rumpus’ diligent assessors couldn’t ignore its glaring security vulnerabilities. Thankfully, a joint task force of SWAT teams and Yale Security’s Cycling Unit mobilized to ensure that no one was harmed on that fateful day. That’s more than I can say for the Secret Service (your move, Biden).
Farnam Hall
Farnam has a nice laundry room except for when it's flooded, or the laundry machines don’t work. Okay, so I guess never. To be honest, I didn’t really know people lived here. Every time I visited, it was inhabited only by mute, airpods-wearing, clothes-stealing laundry-doers. The one sign of life I saw was when they hung “JE LUX” on the side of the building. I whispered “JE SUX” to myself and snickered. Can’t believe no one thought of that before.
Vanderbilt Hall
My first and only memory of Vandy was the very first week of college when I joined a mob of over-eager and under-dressed children on a fervent quest for the holy grail of college weekends: Smirnoff vodka. To this day, I can only imagine its entryways as a sweaty hellscape, overflowing with flesh, house music, and the shrieks of someone being either pleasured or trampled. I won’t try to talk you out of going (you will), but when your judgy upperclassman self is horrified that “That was me?!”, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
L-Dub
It’s not my intent to pile on, or to kick those who are already down (on their knees (begging for it (from their DS queens))). After all, I’m sure this year’s L-Dub residents have already suffered through weeks of panicked Google searches and r/Yale scrolling. I can only offer sympathy for the poor Yale administrator tasked year after year with answering all of the helicopter moms upset with their son’s bunk-bed double (“he’ll have a built-in soaking partner, ma’am”). Plus, those who escape the rat infestation alive have years of luxury ResCo living to look forward to. So they can take it.
Oh yeah, I guess people live in Silliman. Fuck you.