Have you ever heard of Hill House? That far-distant building miles upon miles from Sarah Lawrence’s main campus? It’s big and brooding, six floors, concrete walls, with boarded up windows and drills whirring outside every hour of the day. If you’ve seen it, you’re probably not going to forget it in a heartbeat. Less so for its appearance, and more for the excruciating walk to get there. Because trust me, it is excruciating.
It’s only ten minutes, you might think, what’s the big deal? But if you’ve ever lived in Hill, you know that place is a sinkhole. It pulls you in. Maybe you had a plan to see friends, maybe you have a club meeting in the evening, perhaps you’re simply hungry and want to have dinner at Barb. Well, no luck. Once you’ve walked all the way to Hill and taken the elevator up, there’s really no hope left. The door of your apartment slams shut behind you, and it may as well be that of a jail cell. Hill may only be ten minutes from the rest of campus, but it feels as disconnected as a separate country.
Now, you may still be skeptical of my suffering. Sure, it’s a little far, but the walk itself isn’t too bad, right? Well, that’s where you’re wrong, and it isn’t just that I simply dislike walking. On the contrary, I love walking; I’ve even been known to champion a hike or two. But on all the many other walks I’ve undergone in life, from the rainforests of Thailand to rolling German fields, never have I ever had a woman stick her head out a car window for the sole purpose of yelling at me. I can’t say the same for the walk to Hill, however.
Picture the scene. It is a sunny Sunday afternoon. I am wearing, admittedly, not very much—a tank top and shorts because it is hot and I can do what I want—and I am returning from Heimbold after a good 6 hours of painting. I’m exhausted, my skin is splattered with paint. But despite all this, I’m in a good mood, nodding my head along to the music emitting from my headphones. Car after car rushes by me, but I don’t pay them much mind. That is until a car slows down as it passes me, and a woman sticks her head out the window.
I stare at her, she stares back, and before I know what’s happening, she’s screaming at me, her piggish face contorting in rage, words tearing from her in animalistic shrieks. What…? My jaw hangs open; I probably look like I just walked headfirst into a glass wall. Then I blink and she’s gone, her car disappearing up the road. I stop and gape at the spot where she once was.
What on earth just happened? Did I truly get slut-shamed? My eyes take in the rest of my surroundings, but there’s no one else around, and her gaze was definitely on my face while all the angry yelling was happening. Thanks to the safety net of my headphones, I’ll never know exactly what that woman said to me, but I got enough of a general gist to declare that the walk to Hill leaves a lot to be desired. Sure, I’ve been catcalled and beeped at in various locations before, but to have someone stick out their head and yell at me? The walk to Hill is the only place such a thing has ever occurred. Case in point, that walk is well and truly fucked.
Okay, so psychopathic women are hanging around, and once you’re at Hill, there’s little motivation to leave, but what other problems are there? Well, I’m glad you asked. My least favorite thing about the walk to Hill, probably topping my dislike of being yelled at by strangers, if such a thing is even possible, is the narrowness of the sidewalk. My god, that thing is narrow. And no matter what time of day or night it is, it’s guaranteed there will be someone else walking along it. Now, I’m a speed-walker, I’m a stuck-in-the-New-York-City-mindset type of walker. And yet every day I get stuck behind a snail-speed plodder, and there’s simply nothing I can do about it.
I try my best to overtake, but with a path so narrow it’s impossible. Instead, I ride the slow walker’s ass all the way to Barb before I can break off and make my speedy escape. It’s torturous, tormenting. Especially at 9 a.m. when I’m already late for class. Maybe if there was some hope, I wouldn’t feel so defeated by the whole situation, but in the same way I can’t see a way around those exceptionally slow walkers, I cannot see a way around this problem.
So, all in all, walking to Hill House sucks. And not in the typical, “urgh, this walk is so long” way, but more so in “a woman just yelled at me and I’m stuck behind a slow walker and I’m totally going to be late to class oh no oh no no no no no” way. That isn’t to say it’s the worst thing in the world; I’m sure walking on lava is more painful, or scaling Mount Everest. Nonetheless, to any rising sophomores, be warned: the hill leading up to Hill House may be far from the worst part of it all. Good luck!