Antique, timeless buildings: they're rustic, historic and havens for pests. Centipedes, spiders and the worst of them all: mice.
It's 5pm on Thursday, and Liz Wong is not ready to deal with such uninvited creatures. After a long dragon boat practice, I am anything but ready to jump into mice-hunting mode. From the practice, I rip through my dorm room, running in circles, trying to somehow shower and eat before my 6pm anthropology class.
As I begin my multi-tasking marathon, to my shock I notice a shoestring tail run across the surface of my desk. I decide to call for help in the form of my 1.8-metre tall first-floor mate. V is a mice-hunting champion.
We run arm in arm to the porter's office, demand a poison trap, run back down to my room and begin the search: two torches, one frightened Chinese girl armed with a mop and one heroic figure from Ontario on the prowl for mouse hiding spots.
But we get nowhere with our search and realise we need professional help - M from Vancouver, yet another among the pest-fighting warriors.
We enter the room, and M immediately hears the critter scrounging around my desk. She peeks into the recycling bin, only to find the frightened mouse running round and round in it.