The "College House."
Created | Updated Apr 13, 2014
<p>The house is most often being rented, and the number of occupants is not based on the size of the house, but is directly proportional to the rent, with the goal being that of keeping the monthly cost per resident at a reasonable amount. For example: If the desired monthly cost per occupant is around $150, and the rent is $1000, then the average number of permanent residents would be seven individuals, without regard to the square footage, number of bedrooms, or any bothersome building codes.</p>
<p>These houses are usually rented by persons between the ages of 18 and 25, and are commonly found in regentrified, older neighborhoods. The occupants will usually share a common love for some sort of substance use, or abuse, or some common interest that defines the personality of the house. The term "occupants" must be used loosely, furthermore, because most college houses double as hostels, and generally extend open arms to those that wish to "crash" for the night. It is not uncommon for the couches to be filled until late in the morning or early afternoon at such a house. Occasionally, crashing privileges will be revoked if a certain person abuses the generosity of the host residents, and stays too much. They are commonly presented with the ultimatum of paying rent, or sleeping somewhere else.</p>
<p>An important part of most college houses is the name given to the house. Most of these houses are given names by both the occupants, and by those that "know" about them. There may be the house filled with skateboard ramps that is known by those that don't pay rent as the "Skate House," but by the inhabitants as something enigmatic like "The Black Hole Bayou." It is generally this esoteric proper name given by the actual renters that gives them a sense of ownership; which is very important in a house so frequented by outsiders. Often these names are substance driven (The Beer House), activity driven (The Party House), or architecturally driven (The Pink House). The names range from the mundane (The Big Home), to the fantastic (The Tepid Pit of Stee), and usually correspond in grandeur to the creativity of the residents.</p>
<p>The decor of such houses is often the highlight of a visit. There are simply no boundaries as to what one may find in these houses. Stolen street signs are relatively common features, as are musical instruments, beer bottles, bongs, bad original art, lawn chairs, and a back-yard fire pit. While these things are common, they are also stereotypes, and do not accurately represent all of these college houses. A very well developed sound system is common, as well as several video game systems, which seldom get any rest. There are usually more couches, recliners, loveseats and chairs than anyone could ever use, and in general the upholstery gives a fair representation of every decade since the mid-twentieth century. Bedroom decor and condition varies, because humans vary so much in regard to how they maintain their personal space. Many bedrooms have smelt of Hades itself, and seen their occupant(s) sleeping on a makeshift palette of dirty clothes, while others are clean and clear. The kitchen is usually a place of great discovery. Teetering dishes and colorful mold are generally to be found in fantastic formations. Dating the age of the house is usually possible by investigating the stratified shelves of the refrigerator. As far as bathrooms are concerned... many harbor so much filth that one feels unclean upon simply entering. There are certain bathrooms that can imagine nothing so pure and natural as some plain old fecal matter when compared to the beastly things they harbor. It's sad, but the world is full of wondrous things.</P>
<p>A final defining characteristic, is an ongoing battle with the neighborhood. It just wouldn't be right if the music weren't too loud, if there weren't cars parked a half-mile up the street, if the pit-fire didn't smell, and if the grass didn't need mowing. The college house's most common enemy is the guy next door. Often this person is justified in whatever complaint they may raise, so it is the constant fight for survival that keeps the tenants on their toes. How does one sneak into a quiet den, invite everyone they know, provide good entertainment, and not wake the watchful dragon? Renters usually learn that there is a delicate and perilous balance between freedom and eviction.</p>