Ah, Whitman, the newest of them all, whose neo-Gothic arches and towers we owe to erstwhile eBay honcho/gubernatorial candidate Meg Whitman ’77. From an aerial view, the college forms a “W”, said to be in her honor (definitely apocryphal). It’s no eyesore from the outside. Though Whitman does seem to be aping the time-earned classiness of, say, Rocky — it’s all like “hay look I’m 4 years old but I can be castle-y and majestic too” — it’s a pretty nice-looking crib overall. And there are some nice things on the inside, too. I’ll be quick to admit, the Whitman experience is an overwhelmingly positive one. But I’ve still got some pretty serious reservations about the place. It looks good on the surface, but under that perfect veneer there’s something’s just a little … off. If that’s cryptic, good — I’ll take you through the usual tour, and then I’ll explain myself more clearly when we get to the end, because, suspense, or something.
Laundry: Thanks to ridiculously generous laundry room distribution, no matter where you live the nearest washing machine won’t lie more than a hallway’s length away — you’ll be grateful that you don’t have to clamber up and down stairs with a hamperful of misery. But because of the easy access, these rooms are always busy, so to guarantee yourself an open machine you’ll often have to make the arduous (ok, elevator-assisted) trudge to the 1981 basement, where you’ll find a wondrous array of washers and dryers.
Kitchen: Like the laundry rooms, they’re sprinkled throughout, usually two to a floor, and they’ve got all the usual amenities: fridge, stove, oven, microwave, requisite filthy dishes, etc. Since they’re fairly cramped and devoid of any homey ambiance, the kitchens don’t make for particularly good study or social spaces — I never visited them except to raid someone’s fresh batch of cookies (note: easily sniffed out from afar). Be careful what you cook, though, because air circulation tends to, uh, share your creations with everyone in the vicinity. My freshman year, someone managed to stank up all four floors of 1981 with the thick reek of five-spice. This happened on a regular basis. I will never forgive you, O anonymous purveyor of Asian cuisine.
Computers: Printers on every floor is a godsend, but for usable computers you’ll have to venture to Whitman Library. (We’ll deal with that place in a second.)