Every day as I walk to class I gaze longingly at Grainger Hall. Its coffee stands, serene study areas and stained glass windows exude an aura of confidence and cash.

My daydream, however, is abruptly curtailed as I arrive at the footsteps of Vilas Hall, a building that rivals the Leaning Tower of Pisa as mankind's greatest architectural blunder. The building is a mixture of concrete and brick, with as much character and personality as a Soviet-era detention center.

And before my acquaintances in the business school jump down my throat, I do realize why some students enjoy modern buildings and some are herded into glorified parking garages. Students in business, engineering, and the sciences graduate and go on to pull down $50,000 a year, while the idealists who choose journalism, political science and the humanities are lucky to move out of their parents' basements within six months of graduation.

The vast discrepancy of wealth between departments thus led me to raise my fist in triumph when I registered for the current semester. A critical step toward graduation seniors know all too well yet freshmen fail to realize is the absurd amount of breadth requirements one needs to complete, which I put off until very recently.

My relationship with science is somewhat similar to that of potassium and water. Left to our own devices, we're relatively benign. But when we're forced together, the subsequent eruption is enough to level a modern day Pompeii (yes, I realize the irony of expressing my aversion to science through a chemistry analogy).

"Finally," I thought to myself. "I'm going to cross over to the other side. When I get to class in these immaculate buildings I'll be greeted by a butler named Jeeves who'll bow to my every command. The professor will have a working microphone, the heating will work, and I'll finally find out if a bidet lives up to all the hype."

My first experience with a much fabled structure came as one of my journalism lectures was located in the chemistry building. As I walked through the doorway with all the hopes and dreams of a kid in a candy store, my optimism rapidly deteriorated as my schedule led me to the basement.

As I sauntered into the room, I realized it was far from the Brahmin paradise I had imagined. In fact, the only way one could distinguish this lecture hall from one in Vilas was the periodic table of elements posted on the wall, which immediately upon sight led me to fall victim to a panic attack.

After managing to get my breathing under control with the help of a strategically placed paper bag, I looked down at my desk and was greeted with some poetic graffiti that told me "President Bush is a douche bag." After taking a quick moment to let out a little snicker, my joy was put to a crashing halt as I realized the limerick went on to say, "Clinton all the way."

While my first foray into the world of elite buildings turned out to be a bust, I was undeterred.

The next day I had my first elementary level astronomy lecture. "Astronomy," I said. "That's science! This building must be amazing." Yet my determined optimism once again met an untimely death as I realized the astronomy department was housed in Sterling Hall, most famous for being partially blown up by the Armstrong brothers in 1970.

As I walked up the stairs and entered the lecture hall, I was reminded that freshmen have an unnatural tendency to get to class at least 20 minutes early. After giving the lecture hall a quick once-over and realizing there were no seats, I was forced to join 20 or so other students and sit in the aisle.

After leaving my astronomy lecture (which was comprised of 150 freshmen and me), I started wondering if other majors really had it that good. Every classroom that should have been a Mecca of beauty turned out to be just as grungy as Vilas. So it was with little fanfare I entered the brand new genetics building to attend a genetics seminar.

In one swift swoop all my doubts were alleviated. The lecture hall was chock full of cushioned chairs that rocked back and forth, more than adequate desk space, comfortable heating and even a USB port for every student. And while the bathrooms still had rolls of toilet paper, it was the padded kind, not the unforgiving industrial strength sandpaper one finds in Vilas.

As I woefully left the genetics building, my jealousy of my roommate majoring in molecular biology knew no bounds. And, with any luck, in 30 years he'll let me stay in the basement of his mansion in Dubai.

Rob Hunger ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in political science and journalism.