December 19, 1958
THE TWIG
Page five
CtEARUNESS IS nilE, BUT...
By FRANCES CAIJDLE
Great commotion fias covered
our campus since school began. For
awhile pea(% reigned and then
chaos broke outi What caused the
commotion and chaos? What is it
all about? Let’s do some sleuthing
and find out.
Down the hall marches a girl with
a laundry bag slung over each
shoulder, a box of detergent in each
hand, and a quarter'cfenched be*
tween her teeth. Her eyes are blood
shot and she darts quick glances
from side to side. She reaches the
laundry room, gives a sigh of re
lief that no one is there, and timidly
approaches the shining white>
enameled box sitting to one side
— the automatic washer, what else?
Lifting the lid she peeps in and
finds someone else's laundiy wait
ing to be removed. Droppmg her
burdens and setting her feeth firmly
into the quarter, she proceeds to
transfer the other person’s laundry
from the washer to the plastic-
covered basket placed there for tiiat
purpose.
After completely dirtying the per
son's laundry, our friend is ready to
begin her own washing. She care
fully places her own laundry into
the washer and pours a box of de
tergent in on top.
Now she is really ready to begin
her washing, and excitement grasps
her. Her fingers begin to shake and
her breath comes in quick gasps.
She finally succeeds in placing her
tooth-marked quarter into the slot
in the meter and in pressing the
bar to start the time mechanism.
Silence!
She is about to panic, but sud
denly she remembers the starter
on the machine itself. She reaches
out to turn the disc when it sud
denly falls into her hands in two
pieces. Her knees are begiiming to
knock and she finds it difficult to
keep from falling. After several
fumbles she succeeds in replacing
the broken pieces; and lifts the but
ton which should start the washing.
Perfect peace reigns!
Now what to do? She decides to
yield to temptation and use force.
After a few wild gestures, un-
relateable exclamations, and swift
kicks, she renesvs her attack on the
disc.
' Much to her surprise water be
gins to pour into the machine! With
a sigh she is about to relax when
she remembers a few dirty articles
still in her room and rushes to re
trieve them.
Returning to the laundry room,
does she hear the soft purr of
washing clothes? What do you
think? An unearthly calm hangs
in the air. The water has run in
and cut off, but nothing is being
washed. Perplexed, our friend
rushes to the washer and flings up
the top. There are her clothes float
ing peacefully in very dirty water.
Her heart sinks in despair!
Stumbling blindly into the hall,
she calls for help. Soon the laun
dry room is filled with chattering
girls all offering suggestions — all
to no avail. Nothing works and the
clothes float serenely.
Our friend now realizes that her
plight is hopeless. Someone pushes
her laundry bags into her hands.
Numbly she rolls up her sleeves and
begins to wring out wet soapy
clothes. Soon she has two laundry
bags full of wet clothes and, under
her burdens, struggles to her room.
She has lost her quarter, wasted
a box of detergent, and still has a
pile of wet soapy clothes on her
hands., What does she do? She
dumps them all into the bathtub
and grimly begins to wash.
Two hours later, a girl with ach
ing shoulders sits back to survey
her work. She is wet all over and
an inch of water covers the bath
room floor. But on the line and
on two clothes dryers hang her clean
clothes!
Our questions are answered. We
now know why there is “chaos
and commotion” on the Meredith
campus. The girls all have those
“broken washing machine blues.”
DON'T LET HER DO IT
It is not that I am any stickler
for neatness. In fact it is not even
that I am an admirer of neatness
per se. But, after so long a time,
my room gets so cluttery that even
I can’t stand it. When this state of
mind (desperation) • is reached,
something must be done — some
thing, for instance, like cleaning up
the room.
When this joyful occasion arrives,
roommate is hysterically happy.
It’s not that I am against her clean
ing up the room — oh, no, I’m
all for it. But it seems that 1 can
never find time to be particularly
helpful, I’m perfectly willing to
shove my junk behind and under
my bed; but as for this move-
fumiture - sweep - behind - clean-
mirror type cleaning, I have no time
for such.
But, back to my tale of woe.
Last night, in a fit of madness, I
suggested that we clean up. My sug
gestion was greeted like a sure win
ner in the search for a way to end
poverty; and I hardly had my mouth
closed when roommate began piling
things in my direction. “Hang this
up, why don’t you. And it’s no won
der you never have any clean socks
— they’ll all buried in that jungle
behind your bed. Ah, ha! Here is
that library book I’ve been getting
notices about for weeks. Honestly!”
and on . and on.
This tirade — for tirade it was
despite its completely and sincerely
happy tone — lasted throughout
the two hours it took to get our
room what roommate considered
really clean. (Her housekeeping
leaves much to be desired, believe
me; but it seems as if she gets upset
about the mess sooner than I do
and therefore is in a worse panic
when we start cleaning.)
This is meant as a friendly warn
ing to those of you who, like me,
are happy in an atmosphere less
than spotless. Do everything in
your power,— short of violence, of
course — to keep your roommate
from a cleaning spree. She will
throw away all of your most prized
possessions. She will misplace all
the most important papers you had
“catalogued” by your special sys
tem — confusion. In short, if she
cleans up, friend' you are lost.
Believe me, I know!
DR. COOPER ATTENDS MEETING
Dr. Harry E. Cooper, chairman
of the department of music, at
tended the annual meeting of the
National Association of Schools of
music in St. Louis, over the Thanks
giving holidays. Meredith has been
accredited by NASM since 1940.
Por Aq Afternoon Walk
ARNOLD’S
REXALL DRUGS
3025 Hillsboro Street
Snow
“Look out the window.” These
whispered (but loudly whispered)
words registered foggily in my brain
as I opened my eyes to see the
pincurled .head of my suitemate
sticking through a small crack in
the bathroom door.
“Go away,” I muttered sleepily.
“The only morning I don’t mean
to get up and you have to come in
here and fell me to look out the
window. Go away!”
Instead of retreating in terror,
aforementioned suitemate just gig
gled and repealed, “Look out the
windo^” Anything, but anything to
get rid of her, so . . . SNOW!!!
Could this be true, I wondered as
I nibbed my eyes in amazement.
Was what I saw really snow?
Later in the day I wondered how
I could ever have doubted the
reality of that expanse of “crystals
of frozen water.” I happened to be
among- the unlucky few who at
tended classes, sliding my way to
and from Joyner. My various trips
were not made any easier by those
groups making snowmen or throw
ing snowballs. The snowmen peo
ple were having so much fun that
I felt like finessing all my classes
and joining my peer group in
healthful outside activity. And the
snowball group — well, I wanted
to bury them under about five tons
of snow (or should I say sand?).
After disposing of my classes —
finally — 1 was free to indulge in
all sorts of fun occupations — like
sliding down banks, making angels
in snow by lying down and flapping
wings (I mean arms), eating snow
cream, throwing snowballs at un
suspecting innocents (snowballing
is either good or bad — depending
on which end of snowball one is
on), and taking pictures to preserve
this momentous event for posterity.
That day was fun. But, as the
days went by, the matter began to
get unfunnier and unfunnier. All
the beautiful snow turned to dirty
ice and I made many very un
graceful four-point landings on ray
way around the campus. Some ju
veniles could not get over the thrill
of hearing one’s “ufff” when hit
in the stomach by a snowball, and
I had to spend simply hours trying
(unsuccessfully) to deprive them of
said thrill.
So now I am sick, sick, sick —
of snow. I feel that, although fine
for a college campus, Meredith is
not a very good place - in - which-
to - spend - the - holidays. I want
the snow to go — my dog sled
somehow isn’t up to the iJOO-mile
trek home.
Merry Christmas
to Everyone
from
JOHNSON'S
JEWELERS
Catering to Brides
309 Fayetteville Street
JEAN’S of RALEIGH
for women who love elegance in
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THE BEST EXERCISE IS ...
. By MARY ANN BROWN
Many years from now, when I
say to my grandchildren, “I can
remember when there were no
buses,” they will shake their heads
in amazement and wonder just how
old Granny is anyhow. What they
won’t know (until I enlighten them,
which I will hasten to do, but of
course) is that this shocking lack
(of buses, that is) occurred in the
progressive year of 1958, when I
was a student at Meredith College.
It seemed that there had been
some confusing disagreement as to
money (I never did understand dis
putes of that nature) and the buses,
or the bus drivers rather, struck.
Right after Thanksgiving it was, and
for over two weeks the city of Ra
leigh — at least those of us who
had no cars — walked. And what
with Christmas so near and so many
things to do, there was much walk
ing.
After unsuccessfully yelling up
and down several halls about a ride,
girls would strike out for Cameron
Village, hoping that someone they
knew would be driving along, would
take pity on their plight, and would
take them to their destination. If
the situation were desperate enough,
they hoped for someone, period —
known or unknown.
Usually, however, that someone
never showed, and the group ar
rived at the Village, exhausted even
before they began to shop. This
initial state of exhaustion was bad
enough, but the situation usually
recurred: return trip, no ride.
Never had the Meredith water tank
looked so good as it did after those
long walks to and from the Village.
What made the situation so bad
was die fact that EVERYTHING
happened those two weeks. There
were lectures and concerts to hear
and exhibitions to see. There were
ads to get and Christmas decora
tions to buy. The best movies came
all at once — and you looked at
your aching feet (or at your aching
pocketbook if your feet had already
given out) and wondered, “Will 1
ever get there?” Well, we got there
— somehow. Of course we were of
ten two to three hours late or we
went on the wrong day or to the
wrong place (and we got more call-
downs for being late!) —-but we
got there.
1958 . . . yes, that was the year
we discovered that walking could
be fun — which was good since
we had no cars. That was also the
year we discovered that taxi fare
from M. C. to Cameron was eighty-
five cents — which was bad, since
we could walk no more (and since
we had no cars). That was also
the year we discovered that it is the
thought, not the gift, that really
counts — which was good since we
had no money left to buy gifts (since
we could walk no more and since
we had no cars). 1958 . , . that
was the year of the bus strike!
SCHEDULE?
Ever wonder what really happens
to the people who boast of their
Well - planned study schedule? If
you’re like me, you sorta wonder
if they really stick to it as closely
as they say they do.
Study schedules are excellent out
lets or excuses for getting out of
something you don’t want to do.
For instance, if roomie wants you
to take her laundry down this time,
you can always come back with
something that’ll kill her, like “I’ve
got to study.”
I’ve got material proof in one
case that a study schedule proved
a complete menace in the situa
tion. A perfectly marvelous game
of bridge was most rudely inter
rupted by a girl who had to, of all
things, study. She said she had com
pleted her seven minutes, twenty-
six seconds free time for the day.
Good for her! She’s got seven min
utes more than I do.
Really though, girls, I think the
idea of a study schedule is fine if
you can find one you can abso
lutely stick to. I always seem to
have to alter mine because of more
important things such as letter writ
ing, most important shopping trips,
and, best of all, HIM.
Goin* home over vacation?
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