Wake Me Up When September Ends
I think I'm starting to go nuts.
It all began a week ago, when the freshmen arrived. In droves.
That's the thing about freshmen. You find one, you know that there is a huge group looming somewhere close by. I've tried to be nice about it, to recognize that I, too, was a freshman once, that at one time, I also had to go everywhere with at least fifty of my closest friends. I tried to be good about it.
I failed.
Here's the thing. When you run into blatant moronic behavior (BMB) twenty four hours a day, and about fifteen elevator rides a week, you're fried. Friiiiied.
First of all, who teaches people how to walk anymore? If there is an inconvenient place for these morons to stand, they find it. Not to mention that when they do decide to move, they move in droves. It's not like you can pass one or two freshmen. You have to navigate the whole freakin pack of them. And, forget about any of them walking in a straight line. Sober or not, they weave everywhere and stop every two seconds to adjust their ipod, blackberry, skirt, or shoes. It. kills. me.
How about the elevator etiquette? It must require a genius-level IQ to successfully board and ride an elevator, because nobody around here seems to be capable. I love the "Is this going up or down?" question. There's not two huge buttons (up and down arrows, no less!) that light up when you press them and turn off when your elevator arrives, or anything. And how about the morons that get off the elevator, only to look around for a minute and decide they got off on the wrong floor? Is it really that challenging to look at the sides of the elevator door frame - which, wouldn't you know it, have the floor numbers on them - before you step off? As my good friend Marisa said, if you've got one foot out the elevator, goodbye, thanks for playing. Peace.
Perhaps worst of all is the need that these people have for constant conversation and meet-and-greets. Any time there's a line or wait, it's suddenly the perfect opportunity to meet a new lifelong friend. You know what? I don't want any more friends. I've got enough. I don't want to know what your stupid major is, where your hometown is, what floor you're on, and whether or not you have any older brothers or sisters or pets or odd habits. I don't give a crap about the funny thing that just happened to you, and YES, everyone DID see that you just fell on your ass, and even if they didn't, they've all HEARD about it because all you do is talk about it every single second you meet anyone new. (Seriously, how many times do I have to hear "Oh my god, I hope nobody saw that, I just..." to a perfect stranger? You moron, you are defeating the purpose. God help me.)
I'm in the salad bar line, and I now have to deal with "Wow, this line is pretty slow. But I do love the salads here. What year are you?" conversation starters. If there are places for trainwreck social situations, the dining hall must be the capital. Just tonight, my friends and I were discussing the Buffer Space Mandate. This is the idea that if you're dining at a long table with space for more people, it is common courtesy to leave at least once chair space between you and the other group. The mandate is completely lost on these people. I swear, they expect an after-school special to happen, where they sit down and suddenly everyone is BFFAEAEAE. Well, forget it. If I'm eating alone, I want to eat alone and read the newspaper. I don't want to make a new friend. And I don't want to have to hear you and your fifty new friends discuss their stellar plans for the weekend - to trek to a part of campus in huge droves and follow other people to parties in hopes of just slipping in behind them (Umm, note to all of those morons: when three people are invited and they have an entourage of 150 behind them, someone's gonna notice).
I'm not even going to get into the fashion lines that these people have debuted. It's like you're going to some slutty version of Top of the Hub every time you go to the dining hall, to class, to the gym... anywhere. The idea of dressing in your pajamas or sweats just isn't what it used to be.
To sum up how I've dealt with this freshman clusterfuck, I'll tell a final anecdote:
I was in the elevator, going to the main floor, on Friday afternoon with my friend. Two floors down, a group of people got in the elevator with us. Two floors later, another two kids walked on. One in the new group recognized a girl in the elevator already. "Oh my god, heeyyyyy!" said the already-in-elevator girl, with enthusiasm usually reserved for people recognizing long-lost relatives.
"Oh my god, heeyyyyy!" said the guy coming onto the elevator, with equal enthusiasm.
"Oh my god, this is Eric, the kid I met randomly in the waffle line!!" said the first girl to her cohorts, the enthusiasm ping-pong competition continuing.
"Hi," said Eric. "This is my roommate, Todd."
"Hiiiiii," wailed the first girl. "Oh my god, let me introduce you. This is..." and she proceeded to introduce the rest of her friends who got on the elevator by turning around to the back of the elevator where they (and me and my friend) were standing behind her. When she introduced all of them, she realized that she had not yet introduced me or my friend because (thank GOD) she did not know us. Silence. She turned back around to face Eric and Todd, her newfound BFFAEAE.
Then, all of a sudden, she did an about face and turned to me. "Hey," she said, notably devoid of enthusiasm, "I was on an elevator with you last week."
I think I smiled. I'm pretty sure I tried to smile, anyhow. And nod. Though I honestly had no clue whether I'd been on the elevator with her or not, because she was just blending into the background of annoying freshmen. So I know I didn't really say anything. (I mean, what am I supposed to say to that? "Ohh yeah, what's your major?" Absolutely not. Absoluuuutely not.)
"Well," the girl continued, "it was awkward then, too."
And then she turned around.
And I thought, for the billionth time this week, I have got to get out of here.
It all began a week ago, when the freshmen arrived. In droves.
That's the thing about freshmen. You find one, you know that there is a huge group looming somewhere close by. I've tried to be nice about it, to recognize that I, too, was a freshman once, that at one time, I also had to go everywhere with at least fifty of my closest friends. I tried to be good about it.
I failed.
Here's the thing. When you run into blatant moronic behavior (BMB) twenty four hours a day, and about fifteen elevator rides a week, you're fried. Friiiiied.
First of all, who teaches people how to walk anymore? If there is an inconvenient place for these morons to stand, they find it. Not to mention that when they do decide to move, they move in droves. It's not like you can pass one or two freshmen. You have to navigate the whole freakin pack of them. And, forget about any of them walking in a straight line. Sober or not, they weave everywhere and stop every two seconds to adjust their ipod, blackberry, skirt, or shoes. It. kills. me.
How about the elevator etiquette? It must require a genius-level IQ to successfully board and ride an elevator, because nobody around here seems to be capable. I love the "Is this going up or down?" question. There's not two huge buttons (up and down arrows, no less!) that light up when you press them and turn off when your elevator arrives, or anything. And how about the morons that get off the elevator, only to look around for a minute and decide they got off on the wrong floor? Is it really that challenging to look at the sides of the elevator door frame - which, wouldn't you know it, have the floor numbers on them - before you step off? As my good friend Marisa said, if you've got one foot out the elevator, goodbye, thanks for playing. Peace.
Perhaps worst of all is the need that these people have for constant conversation and meet-and-greets. Any time there's a line or wait, it's suddenly the perfect opportunity to meet a new lifelong friend. You know what? I don't want any more friends. I've got enough. I don't want to know what your stupid major is, where your hometown is, what floor you're on, and whether or not you have any older brothers or sisters or pets or odd habits. I don't give a crap about the funny thing that just happened to you, and YES, everyone DID see that you just fell on your ass, and even if they didn't, they've all HEARD about it because all you do is talk about it every single second you meet anyone new. (Seriously, how many times do I have to hear "Oh my god, I hope nobody saw that, I just..." to a perfect stranger? You moron, you are defeating the purpose. God help me.)
I'm in the salad bar line, and I now have to deal with "Wow, this line is pretty slow. But I do love the salads here. What year are you?" conversation starters. If there are places for trainwreck social situations, the dining hall must be the capital. Just tonight, my friends and I were discussing the Buffer Space Mandate. This is the idea that if you're dining at a long table with space for more people, it is common courtesy to leave at least once chair space between you and the other group. The mandate is completely lost on these people. I swear, they expect an after-school special to happen, where they sit down and suddenly everyone is BFFAEAEAE. Well, forget it. If I'm eating alone, I want to eat alone and read the newspaper. I don't want to make a new friend. And I don't want to have to hear you and your fifty new friends discuss their stellar plans for the weekend - to trek to a part of campus in huge droves and follow other people to parties in hopes of just slipping in behind them (Umm, note to all of those morons: when three people are invited and they have an entourage of 150 behind them, someone's gonna notice).
I'm not even going to get into the fashion lines that these people have debuted. It's like you're going to some slutty version of Top of the Hub every time you go to the dining hall, to class, to the gym... anywhere. The idea of dressing in your pajamas or sweats just isn't what it used to be.
To sum up how I've dealt with this freshman clusterfuck, I'll tell a final anecdote:
I was in the elevator, going to the main floor, on Friday afternoon with my friend. Two floors down, a group of people got in the elevator with us. Two floors later, another two kids walked on. One in the new group recognized a girl in the elevator already. "Oh my god, heeyyyyy!" said the already-in-elevator girl, with enthusiasm usually reserved for people recognizing long-lost relatives.
"Oh my god, heeyyyyy!" said the guy coming onto the elevator, with equal enthusiasm.
"Oh my god, this is Eric, the kid I met randomly in the waffle line!!" said the first girl to her cohorts, the enthusiasm ping-pong competition continuing.
"Hi," said Eric. "This is my roommate, Todd."
"Hiiiiii," wailed the first girl. "Oh my god, let me introduce you. This is..." and she proceeded to introduce the rest of her friends who got on the elevator by turning around to the back of the elevator where they (and me and my friend) were standing behind her. When she introduced all of them, she realized that she had not yet introduced me or my friend because (thank GOD) she did not know us. Silence. She turned back around to face Eric and Todd, her newfound BFFAEAE.
Then, all of a sudden, she did an about face and turned to me. "Hey," she said, notably devoid of enthusiasm, "I was on an elevator with you last week."
I think I smiled. I'm pretty sure I tried to smile, anyhow. And nod. Though I honestly had no clue whether I'd been on the elevator with her or not, because she was just blending into the background of annoying freshmen. So I know I didn't really say anything. (I mean, what am I supposed to say to that? "Ohh yeah, what's your major?" Absolutely not. Absoluuuutely not.)
"Well," the girl continued, "it was awkward then, too."
And then she turned around.
And I thought, for the billionth time this week, I have got to get out of here.
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