There was that short little dork at the end of the hall. He always bragged about the multiple chicks he had “back home” in Bishopville, but none of them could come up to visit because they didn't have a driver license yet.

The yankee transplant that walked around in his Ohio State jersey, talking about how much better it was than Clemson, but they didn't offer his major.

The two high school best friends from Belton Honea Path…. Their hometown buddies would come in Saturday nights to party, dressed like New Jersey club hoppers, gold necklaces outside of their popped collars and smelling like they took a bath in Polo Sport.

The RA always thought he was in charge. But at least once a week, the jokey pranksters would catch him with his pants down, so to speak.

Shower time was always tricky. No matter which of the five shower heads sticking out of the wall you chose, somehow, that weird guy you never saw on the hall, would end up lathering himself within arm's reach, right beside you.

Then you had that group of mental ruffians who would gather in the bathroom to brag and laugh about their poops and then rip the shower curtains off of the stalls on the way out.

Mr. party animal from Spartanburg, when drunk, was always far too happy to show off his attributes and let his towel hang open as he strutted down the hall to the shower.

Can't leave out the guy who thought he was the smartest thing since sliced bread. Fancied himself some cooking genius, but when he used the common kitchenette, it just stunk up the whole place and made everyone hate him even more.

It's nice to see very little has changed from back then. Everyone still together, sharing space in an outdated locale while willing to accept and even welcome the other non-true fans.