Plodding Through Week One

My first week at Barnard College has been marred by one thing: constant, unrelenting rain. The rain is now my greatest adversary.
I thought I was ready. I prepared diligently. I obsessively made lists. I carefully and lovingly checked off item after item and then placed each gently into its proper box. I read all of the numerous colorful pamphlets sent out by Barnard, chock-full of advice for poor incoming first-years. Somehow, I still arrived in New York-for the first time-without the most necessary of all footwear, the rain boot.
I have been observing, almost scientifically, the different breeds of rain boots. There is the working breed, the knee-high black rubber rain boot. From there, it seems to have evolved into several less functional varieties. There is the terrier breed, the duck boot that is cute but essentially useless most of the time. There is the non-sporting breed, with some sort of plaid fabric stretched over the rubber of the calf. And the toy variety, shiny heeled versions that seem highly impractical for walking at all.
Back home in Minnesota, rain boots are not really necessary. Even though it can be -30 degrees at 6 a.m., no one ever really has to face the weather. People run with wet hair from their nice warm houses to their nice warm attached garages and into their nice warm cars. There's no walking involved. Some people even use remote starters on their cars so that they never have to be in the cold. But here, I schlep my wet self up and down the Sulzberger stairs and across Lehman lawn facing the weather with resigned indifference. When I want to go to the bookstore or to the park, or really anywhere, I doggedly venture outside and face the weather, monsoons and all.
In Minnesota, I lived an hour's drive from where anything happened. That meant my friends and I would drive to see a movie, drive back to the friend's house, and then it would be time to drive home. But here, I can go jumping from event to event in a matter of minutes. I go from dinner to a party out to coffee and then back for movie night with my floor-mates. In Minnesota, I lived with people who knew U.S. geography. Here, I live with people who know Jewish geography. Now that I am away from home, where the laundry was free and the drying space plentiful, I am faced with the harsh reality of $1.25-a-load laundry and everything I own being wet.
So, here I am in New York. Plodding through puddles no one really warned me about and trying to find my way around the subway. So I try to find more places to hang wet clothing. There are wet socks, wet shoes, and pants soaked to the knees hanging on every available surface. Socks on the rungs of my annoyingly tall loft bed, socks on the back of my desk chair, pants hung over my open closet door, pants on the towel hook. But I am getting exactly what I wanted-something new. I am getting something unexpected. I am getting backlash from a hurricane. This is definitely completely new for me.
As I step hesitantly into my new life in New York City, I am shedding my old persona and entering a new life filled with higher beds, harder classes, and wetter feet. But fear not. My very own pair of rain boots is on the way.

The author is a Barnard College first-year.