We all come to college looking for something. Some of us look to point our lives in one direction or another; others wish to satisfy the strong sexual urges they’ve been harboring since the onset of puberty. Some are here to enjoy four years of intense and potentially harmful drug and alcohol use. A small and embittered portion enroll with the express purpose of wasting our parents’ money by majoring in something useless, thereby exacting sweet vengeance for forcing us to take three years of jazz dance lessons.

Personally, I just wanted to be a slob.

A number of years ago, I made a silent pact with myself. I had just had another argument with my mother about the disorderly state of my personal living space, and had grown weary of her constant nagging. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother, but she’s a neat freak of the highest order. So I promised myself that, as soon as I got to college, I would break the bonds of cleanliness and become the messiest creature ever to walk the surface of God’s green earth. My friends, I’m here to tell you that I kept that promise.

Freshman year, my dorm room could have been a scene from a Centers for Disease Control training video. At one point, a monument known as the Leaning Tower of Pizza stood in the corner of our common room, 40 boxes high. Truly, it was a majestic sight to behold. The remnants of old chicken wings were glued to the common room table, the bones bleached by an unrelenting sun. Old dirty dishes, thoroughly crusted over with food, were perched precariously on top of one another like some nightmarish game of Jenga. Every step you took, your sneaker stuck to the floor and made an awful ripping noise when you lifted your leg. Never once was I ordered to clean up after myself. I had had my first taste of uninhibited slobbery, and I was hooked.

Fast forward two years, and I’m living off campus in a large blue shack filled with garbage. Beer cans serve as our wall-to-wall carpet, cigarette butts cover every imaginable surface and countless food containers create an ambiance … and a stench … that is entirely unique. On the rare occasion that we do clean, it’s a neighborhood event. A couple of weeks ago, our landlord asked my seven housemates and I to tidy up. So, we swept all our crap into bags and took it to the curb. A few days later, the UPS guy came to the door with a delivery. As I signed for the package, he looked past me at the newly-cleaned living room. He raised his eyebrows, grinned and said, “Wow, this place looks totally different. Last time I was here, I couldn’t even see that table under all the trash.”

I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but when a UPS delivery man, at best a bi-monthly visitor, notices something like that, you know you’re a part of something really special. The sense of accomplishment I felt was overwhelming. I came to Binghamton University to live out a dream, and all it took was a look of surprise on the face of a UPS employee for me to know that I had reached the top of the mountain.

My point is this: college represents a period of unparalleled personal freedom, when it becomes acceptable to defy social norms like monogamous relationships and personal hygiene. I am living, breathing proof that if you’re willing to sacrifice blood, sweat, tears and personal health, nothing is impossible. Relish this time, brothers and sisters. I know I will. I’ll continue to throw my garbage where I please, and there’s nothing my parents can do about it. Unless, of course, they threaten to stop paying my rent.

Matt McFadden is a junior English and Arabic major.