The Rear View Mirror: My First Week in I.V

By Jill Messina

Editor’s Note:  Jill Messina is a recent UCSB graduate.  She will be contributing a series of weekly columns on her experiences during her term at UCSB. 

When my friend and I decided to move to Santa Barbara, or more specifically to Isla Vista, we had no idea just how difficult it would be to find housing.  It didn’t help that we lived out of state.  We set up three interviews with potential roommates who had already found housing.  After our arduous road trip from Arizona, one of the people ended up being a no-show.  When we interviewed with a girl, she said she liked us, but that she couldn’t make a decision because the other roommates weren’t present, they were home for the summer.  The second interview was with two guys, one who seemed really nice, and the other bearable at best. They said they’d let us know…

We were hoping they would choose us, or the trip would have been a total waste, and they did. The only problem was when we showed up, the nice guy ended up not being able to afford the rent, and we were stuck with another guy we had never met, and we had a feeling he was going to be trouble.  We had already signed a year lease, so we felt completely trapped.

  When our roommates started pressuring my friend and I to kiss in front of them our first weekend, I started to panic.  It didn’t help that their crew of friends was chanting for us to do the same. And every shot they downed made them even more persistent.  They took us by the hand to lead us down Del Playa, also known as D.P., the street notorious for hosting a sea of drunken college students every Friday and Saturday night. I cannot express my overwhelming feelings when I laid eyes on D.P. for the first time.  My girlfriend and I held onto each other for dear life, knowing that if we lost our grip on one another, we’d be lost at sea, alone.  Guys were using the density as an opportunity to fondle girls anonymously, and my roommates were making catcalls at every other girl.  Drunken guys were trying to persuade us back to go with them to their houses, and were informing of us of the I.V. rule to always walk with your keg cup upside down so the cops couldn’t get you for an M.I.P., also known as Minor in Possession.  This was the number one rule in I.V., and already you could see the kids strewn on the curbs, with cops hovering above them issuing MIPs.

Later that night, we were awakened by the sound of a fire truck that appeared to have stopped directly in front of our apartment. Once my friend and I made it downstairs, we saw a flaming mattress that had been set on fire by some late-night partiers. As the firefighters struggled to put the fire out, they advised us to rinse off the inch of ash that had accumulated on our cars, informing us of the damage it would cause.