Ava Stringer ’28

by Ava Stringer ’28 on October 23, 2025

There’s always a duo in a trio.

Triple dorms are the definition of unnecessary chaos: cramped, loud, and awkward. The math isn’t adding up. These rooms are built for two, yet somehow, we’re squeezing in three and pretending it’s “community living.” It’s like trying to have a dinner party in a broom closet and calling it “intimate.”

You can feel the tension before the semester even begins. There’s always an odd one out. Don’t even get me started on when it’s two friends and a random roommate. Two strangers, a communal bathroom down the hall, and barely any floor space? That’s a social experiment, not housing.

Let’s talk about the dimensions. Freshman triple rooms average around 15 by 13 feet, which is roughly the size of a one-car garage, except with three beds, three desks, and three sets of everything else. Sophomore triples aren’t much better, averaging the size of a small studio apartment cut in half. And let’s not forget, we’re paying upward of ten thousand dollars a year for the privilege of living in a glorified shoebox.

What better way to stress out new students than to confine them to a space smaller than most people’s bedrooms, all while they’re learning to live away from home for the first time? The college talks endlessly about wellness, community, and adjusting to campus life, but how’s anyone supposed to “find themselves” when there’s literally nowhere to stand?

Providence College can do better. Triples aren’t a solution to overcrowding; they’re a shortcut that makes students pay the price for poor planning. Everyone deserves a room that feels like a home, not a closet with three beds. At the very least, hand out noise-canceling headphones and emotional support water bottles on move-in day.

Triples might build character, but so does surviving a natural disaster. Neither of those should be a part of the “college experience.” If it is, hazard pay seems reasonable.