Last year, I had a system. I would leave my meal card in my mailbox, and only take it out to buy meals or to show people my Gambit impression from X-Men. But that has all changed. Except the Gambit impression. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem with the idea of locks on the doors, but I do have a problem with the way in which it was implemented. My biggest complaint: why not put e-locks on all the doors? If you look at national historic landmark buildings like Anderson, Rackham, or Sylvester, buildings engineered by virtuously bearded savant architect Bernard Maybeck, they were designed to be masterpieces of form and function, not only habitable, but beautiful as well. These houses now have staircases that lead to locked doors that can’t be opened. So the staircases on national historic landmark buildings now serve the same function as the display toilets at Home Depot. At least we don’t get kicked out for using the wrong staircase.

Another major problem, in my book at least, is forgetting a meal card. I am biased in this because I am extremely forgetful and disorganized, but still, there is no mercy for the likes of me in this system. What if your average good-looking, tall, brown-haired, incredibly funny Principia student forgets his meal card and on his way back to the dorm suddenly feels “the wave” (a running term used to describe the sudden, urgent need to relieve yourself for no apparent reason), he is too far from the concourse so in a panic he runs to the house, forgetting the sadistic red light of the door-lock (strangely reminiscent of Hal the computer from “2001: Space Odyssey”). Banging on the door is of no avail because now the inner doors are locked too. What can this poor, nameless, handsome student do but relieve himself in the bushes outside of Clara McNabb house in sweaty desperation? Perhaps a contingency for that “eventuality” is a keypad, where every student has their own 5-digit code, just in case they forget their meal card in their room and walk outside and remember it just as the door closes. But putting up keypads might be an inconvenience. I suppose I could start wearing my meal card on a lanyard like the freshmen, but copying them will only make them feel more important than they already do. And do we really want freshmen walking around puffed up with their own self-importance and a sense of entitlement? I think not.

While I have this momentum, what about rainy days? I know we haven’t really had that many yet, but just wait. We (and by we, I mean everyone except the freshmen) have all experienced the rainy season here. And we know that when it rains here it pours. So the extra five seconds it takes to get your meal card out and wait for Hal the computer to turn green could literally mean the difference between being moderately wet and being soaked to the point of supersaturation. I expect several hundred nods of assent and pats on the back when the first truly rainy day comes. Perhaps I deserve batch of cookies, too, for having the courage to speak my mind.

Speaking of cookies (actually not), the men of Lowery love to walk around in the nude. It is a prerequisite for entering the house. With the advent of the new house locks, they feel even more secure in their privacy, and studies show that nudity has increased by a whopping 3000 percent as evidenced by the pie chart to the left.

One more thing: I am unable to get into other houses after midnight, even on weekends when curfew is 2:00. Is this a malfunction, or a mere human error to program Hal properly? God help us when the locks gain sentience.

I will leave you with this: what happens when you are stuck outside another dorm at 1:00 AM on a rainy night, and you are suddenly struck by “the wave”? We might have to start selling diapers in the convenience store. Ben Frederick out.