One of my favorite things in the world is watching how people react when you know they are about to receive a text. Some people get really excited, and immediately dive for their phone like its the last ticket to a Billy Joel concert. Others try and play it off real cool. They’ll feel the phone vibrating in their pocket, do a little head nod to themselves in acknowledgement of the text, and go about their business. Five minutes later, they’ll casually reach into their pocket, glance at the message, then put the phone back in their pocket for another five minutes before responding. The last set of people are the completely oblivious ones who either don’t realize their phone is vibrating, or simply forget to respond.
Juliet, being a member of the female race, fell into the first category.
For introductions, the leaders are supposed to facilitate awkward “get to know you” games called icebreakers. These games have the uncanny ability to make its participants feel more uncomfortable than a 16 year old girl watching Superbad with her parents. One of the games, called “Bunny Bunny,” requires players to prance around the room yelling nonsensical phrases such as “Dunga Dunga.” Yep, thats right. DUNGA DUNGA. Being that everyone in my group was above the age of five, I refused to play any such games.
Lastly, we were supposed to eat, sleep, and breathe the Georgetown Fight Song. Since that cacophonous abomination is undoubtedly the worst fight song I have ever heard, I refused to learn the lyrics. Supposedly a gleaming bastion of school spirit, I was unable to teach my new students the fight song. What a shame. Not really.
Why did I rebel against the rules of orientation advising? Was it because I hated Georgetown or something?
Nope. Not at all. Actually, I was a big fan of Georgetown. If it were a sport, I would root for it. But if you thought I was going to sacrifice my personal values for a falsified and overall less awesome presentation college life, you’ve got another thing coming. There was absolutely no way I was going to mask my true self. Putting on mask would have made me fake. A fake me would have given off a fake impression of the school. A fake impression of the school creates a fake school. And a fake school just sucks. I don't know about you, but I'm done with that "playing pretend" thing. It was soooo 1993.
My voice came out rather confident, but I was anything but. She made me much more nervous than anyone should be talking to a girl. In fact, I was so nervous that I resorted to my “I’m uncomfortable in this situation” twitch. Everyone has one. Some people bite their nails, some people scratch their arm. As for me? I rub the area underneath my eye with my index finger. For whatever reason, that stuff from your eye (I think its called eye mucus) likes to chill there.
As I rubbed away, I realized that I hadn’t shaven for the past few days. God, I must have looked like an overly scruffy idiot. In a move of pure genius, I thought it’d be a good idea to grow out a finals beard. Geez Blake, what were you thinking?
At least my appearance wasn’t totally shot. I was wearing my best sweatshirt. The green American eagle brought out my eyes pretty nicely, and it was one of those cuts that were perfectly shaped for my body. If it wasn’t for my idiotic aspiration to look like Zach Galifanakis, I would have easily been Abercrombie model material. Though I’d keep my shirt on. Those shirtless models are giant tools.
The inevitable slowly but surely began to creep in. I was running into dead ends. I was trapped. I had no idea what time it was, and I was beginning to panic. I was scared. I was confused. I had a headache. I wanted mommy.
Dejected, I decided to trudge back to my apartment. My stairwell was indoors, somewhat shielded from the unfriendly and formidable outside world that had just chewed me up and spit me out like a shitty piece of gum that loses flavor after about 30 seconds. The stairwell would give me a little shelter, at least for a little bit. I knew I couldn’t fall asleep, because I would risk missing NSO training. Thus, I knew I was going to have to bite the bullet and pull my first all-nighter of the year. Second day in, and classes hadn’t even started yet. Not too shabby.
After a brief walk of utter shame, I rounded the corner and mounted the stoops leading to the door of my apartment building. Immensely relieved that the stack of flyers I found at the foot of the stairs remained wedged in between the doorway, keeping it unlocked, I opened the door, fully prepared to wait it out until the sun rose. About to go in, I decided to take one last feeble look at the lifeless street in a last ditch effort to save myself.
And just like that, my world was turned upside down.
song of the day:
Use ur love: B.O.B
B.o.B rapping over the outfield's 80's classic. solid stuff.