Memories of the HMCS Wardroom

 
First year.
One of the first times I sat in the Wardroom, it was around 8 a.m – in other words, well before the FYP lecture began. I was a “day student” and commuted by bus from my parents’ house in Bedford every day. Every morning, I sat on a sofa in the wardroom. Sometimes, I closed my eyes in hopes of getting a bit of extra rest. Other mornings, I scrambled to finish a reading I’d barely started. I rarely went to the Wardy at night. I didn’t really like beer, and taking a bus at night was never my idea of fun.
 
Second year.
I lived in the Angel’s Roost. One floor up from the school of journalism; five floors up from the Wardroom. But you could still hear music when it played. Although I lived so close, I spent more nights complaining about the noise than going down there to drink. “Didn’t quiet hours start 20 minutes ago?” my neighbours and I would say. It was a year of depression, so sometimes even venturing downstairs was an effort.
 
Third year.
Finally I lived downtown and off-campus. This was the year I discovered I really did like beer – I just hadn’t been drinking the right kinds. Garrison became a favourite. I spent nights in the Wardroom with my close friend Danielle, but I also brought in people who had never set foot in King’s before. For my other friends (and significant others), it became the place of deeper glimpses into my world: “These are my King’s friends and classmates. That guy writes poems for a dollar each. That girl is in pretty much all the KTS plays. That guy writes all his articles for class and works for the Dal Gazette – don’t know how he does it. I kissed a lot of these people in first year.”
 
Fourth year.
The summer that chewed me up and spat me out was followed by the best and most difficult school year of my life. I passed through the Wardy every day as I went to the Vroom Room for my honours project class. In mid-September, I finally got to the Wardy for a drink. I went on a whim. I started going to the Wardy almost every time friends were there. Even if I didn’t have money, someone would perk up and offer to buy me a drink. Other journalism students went there to vent and blow off steam. I regret not knowing the Wardroom sooner.