At the beginning of last semester I learned that one of my friends, we'll call her ""Sally"" to avoid revealing her true identity and causing her utter humiliation, was moving into the Lucky Apartments. Half-jealous and half-shocked, I jokingly said, ""Well, I'll probably see you at graduation then,"" confident she would disappear into the abyss that is that monstrous, block-consuming building. When Sally insisted that she would remain her normal, middle-class, Midwestern self I had my doubts, but I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.
And at first I did still see her out at the bars, and occasionally we both showed up to class on the same day. But by mid-October, it was impossible to ignore the changes that were slowly taking over my friend.
At first they were small changes: an unwillingness to walk to Subway when there was a Quiznos right in the building and a switch from a Starbucks addiction to a CoffeeBytes preference. With the addition of tanworld and Anytime Fitness, I knew I had lost my fake-n-bake buddy and even though I never go to the gym, asking Sally to think about going to the SERF with me was clearly no longer going to be an option. Still, I would occasionally see Sally at Sentry or Inner Fire (an off-campus yoga studio) and our friendship remained damaged, but intact.
That was until Sally returned to Madison last week and learned that in her absence, not only a grocery store but also a yoga studio had been added to the Lucky complex. She didn't even try to mask her glee.
""Jillian! Did you see?! There's a grocery store downstairs... Wait, no. An organic fresh food market, which is, like, so much better.""
""Of course I saw it. How stupid are you? Or do you think I'm blind?""
""And they built a yoga place! It has a funny name so it must be really nice.""
""Mmmm...""
""Now all we need is a doctor's office; wait, there's UHS! And we need a laundry service... But I guess Lazybones picks up and delivers so we don't really need that either. I mean, really, I think everything I need to function and, you know, not die is already right here.""
As hard as I was trying to block Sally out, it hit me that she was absolutely right. Of course there were reasons to leave the building (school-related functions, visiting friends in the Aberdeen and buying new Uggs), but if a hurricane suddenly hit Madison, there's a good chance that the sole survivors would be those dwelling in Lucky—which is one of the single most terrifying realizations I've ever come to.
The scariest thing about Lucky Island is that three entire floors are dedicated to Lucky 101 residents, a program geared toward first-year students. This means hundreds of freshmen are being primed for life in a building where everything is provided for them.
Most juniors and seniors (hopefully) recognize that life in Lucky is based on fantasy and not reality. But young, impressionable freshmen have nothing to compare Lucky life to other than living at home with their parents, which for most is probably as nice, if not better.
Just imagine, if you will, what kinds of adults this complex will breed. People who have legs made of jelly from lack of use, incapable of reading a map because they've never been faced with the threat of getting lost, unable to live life without a Preferred Resident Card... a total tragedy.
I write this entirely out of concern and care for my fellow students and all of mankind. I swear it has nothing to do with the fact that I spent a year living in Saxony (which I maintain is one of the most under-appreciated apartment complexes and an example of architecture at its finest) and can only dream about what life in Lucky could be like. Additionally, I promise that Sally is a real person and not one that I made up entirely for the benefit of this column that I wrote in a jealous rage after leaving the Fresh Madison Market with bags full of delicious produce and pre-packaged sandwiches.
Really, for the good of all mankind, boycott Lucky!... Or let me come live with you.
If you think life on Lucky Island is the greatest thing since sliced bread, well Jillian just doesn't care so don't bother telling her at jlevy2@wisc.edu.
