Shhhhhh! The dreaded Dead Week is now upon us. If you live in the dorms, you know what that means — quiet hours. Twenty-three-and-a-half hours of a completely serene study atmosphere.

No loud music, no shouting in the hallways and no annoying guffaws drifting from the echoing bathrooms. At least that’s how it works in theory.

The reality depends on how strict the resident assistant is on the floor. In the days when I lived in Maple Hall, my RAs stuck close to the book, and quiet hours were stringently enforced. It seemed that the sound of silence almost drove some people over the edge.

I think it’s the fault of that rebellious bone in our bodies that makes us want to be loud during quiet hours.

It’s highly probable that it’s that very same bone that convinces people to pierce their noses when they know their parents will despise it.

It’s just a fact of human nature that when we know that we have to be quiet by residence-hall law, we have an overwhelming desire to be extra boisterous, simply out of spite.

That alone was the hardest part of adjusting to collegiate semester exams for me. Oh sure, taking the actual tests were no fun, but the being quiet part was definitely a bigger strain. Being a naturally loud person, my RA had to get after me several times my freshman year to keep my roommate and me under the acceptable noise level.

The main problem with enforcing the quiet hours rule is, the big punishment is — gasp! Getting written up! Oh, the horror! Oh, the agony! No one takes these citations seriously, even if they might end up being so.

Unless the rules of residence-hall living have changed, a few write-ups under one’s belt equals the boot from the dorms for good. These consequences may seem silly to people whose only wish is to turn their music up to high decibels or yell at friends down the hall.

When I moved off campus, I almost forgot about the silent tradition until one of my roommates suggested that we have some house quiet hours. I almost fell over in amazement. That’s why people move away from the dorms — to escape such ridiculous rulings. I decided that she was delirious from studying too hard.

The whole concept of Dead Week was foreign to me as a freshman. I had wrongly assumed that Dead Week meant that everything was dead — no class, no activities, etc.

People act like dead dogs because they are worn out from finishing up last-minute assignments, projects and papers.

Unfortunately, I soon learned that the only things that actually were lifeless during this week before finals were the students.

I was aghast when I discovered that not only were we required to go to class during Dead Week, some professors actually had the gall to assign new material!

On the other hand, there are a few benefits to Dead Week as well. My personal favorite when I was living in the dorms was the Dead Week treats in our den every night, but I also enjoyed the slightly sloppier dress code.

Studying long hours gives students license to excuse themselves from daily showers, hair combings and general hygiene habits if they so choose. Anytime I can be a slob is a great day for me.

Also, the pizza deals during the last couple of weeks are unbeatable. Since people are staying up crazy hours to study, there are a heck of a lot more opportunities to order that pepperoni and mushroom you’ve been craving.

The only good thing about the whole quiet-hours situation is that during the brief half-hour each night when you are allowed to be loud, people make the most of it and have fun. Rowdy half-hour was always a wild time on my floor — impromptu dance parties in our neighbor’s room, yelling, screaming and general running amok through the hallways, and games on main floor.

Rather than dreading it, celebrate Dead Week somehow in your own way. Decide to stay up all night having fun instead of studying, order a pizza, throw snowballs at your roommate and then, only then, commence studying.

Best of luck on exams!

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Joanne Roepke is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Aurora.