But the situation in the basement was growing dire.
"Is this college?" we sometimes found ourselves inquiring internally as we sifted through oddly piled leftovers and tried to find the closest thing to an adequately-sized void to fit our own food. We became a bit too practiced at the art of food sculpture, wherein we would be forced to reduce the size of our lunch at breakfast time in order to fit it inside the minifridge. The convenient location of the kegerator -- directly next to the practically pocket-sized refrigerator -- was often a source of comfort in the wake of these sorrows. Do adults still live this way, like we're sharing a fridge with 13 wayward roommates who can't control their sandwich hoarding habits?
No. This is not how adults live. And now, we don't have to either, finally minting our status as grown men (and woman). Our minifridge (RIP, even though it's actually still sitting downstairs perfectly intact) has been replaced by a new contendor.