Me and hundreds of other students converged on the dorms and I was reading the names written on hanging tags above all the beds to try to find mine. My name was spelled "Terry" on my tag and I'd been mistakenly placed in a room with three guys. I put my suitcase down and set off to find the woman in charge of room assignments. She was quite busy, so I went to the communal bathroom and took a shower. Gave myself a walking tour of the dorm area, including the exotically foreign-looking mall adjacent. There was a beauty parlor, a bookstore, and room after room of bunkbeds. Finally I ran into the room assignment coordinator and she acknowledged the problem but was on her way home for the night. She told me to sleep in the room I'd been given just this one night and she'd straighten everything out tomorrow. It was minutes before eight p.m., which was when dinner was to be served, so I dropped by my room to check on things. There were four guys napping in their beds, one being mine - and one had his son there napping on an air mattress on the floor. He told me they'd be out tomorrow, but this didn't solve the problem of where I would sleep that night. Other than the bed problems, I was quite excited to have this chance to live in the dorms for one semester while finishing my doctorate degree. I was worried that all the young students would think it was weird to have a 39 year-old among them, but then I saw another older woman with pictures of kids older than mine decorating the desk in her room and she seemed to be getting along quite nicely.
And all this after reading about Vietnam right before sleep. Wouldn't you think I'd dream of something else entirely?