All right, freshmen: You win.
I give up. I will stop shooting you overenthusiastic smiles while we brush our teeth. I will cease to shoot you moony looks as I pass by your open door, longingly looking on as you compare your SAT scores and dish on which Ivys you got into but just “weren’t for you.” No more will I attempt to be your friendly neighboring sophomore. I quit.
Please understand: I was all for the arrival of the class of 2011. I even signed up to be a peer adviser, thus sacrificing my beautiful New Student Week to 7 a.m. wake-ups and neurotic questions. I moved into Bobb Hall on Monday, and haven’t closed my door since.
But my reception has not been the idol worship I had hoped it would be. The freshmen barely acknowledge the existence of we innocuous sophomores. I really can’t figure it out, but as far as the freshmen are concerned, I am the sophomore slump-incarnate. But don’t take my word for it; I present to you yesterday, Wednesday, Sept. 17. As I’m sure you would anyway, judge for yourself:
Alarm goes off. Obligatory obscenities muttered. The beat goes on.
Stumble into bathroom. Apparently, I am backstage at Project Runway… which is curious considering I woke up in Bobb. Five freshmen girls, perfectly coiffed and lipglossed to a sheen usually reserved for an Aqua Net 80s prom, are busily prepping for the Dean’s Convocation. Am suddenly very aware that I’m not wearing a bra.
Can I brush my teeth while crossing my arms?
No. No I cannot.
Am conspicuously a sophomore in my Wildcat Welcome t-shirt on Sheridan. People dream of looking this cool. Parents keep stopping me for directions to Norris. Why am I awake?
Back at the dorm, I go to wash my hands. Girl with headphones scowls at my nonchalant “Hey.”
Maybe she just can’t hear me.
She just high-fived another freshman.
Is high-fiving cool now? Have I really been replaced by high-fiving? Again, why am I awake?
11:04 a.m. – 6:30 p.m.
Wallowing in own filth.
Reunion dinner with the former Allison 4th floor. We meet up at Noyes and Sheridan. This is when we first notice the clusters of freshmen. They are standing in circles. I am expecting a game of Ring Around The Rosy any minute now. Waiting at the corner, my friends realize we look like freshmen. Immediately we begin discussing our prospective majors and where we live on campus.
Leaving Bobb for some nightlife (read: off-campus frat party). Am asked if I am a freshman. Promptly respond that yes, I am a freshman. A freshman in high school.
There are literally four crop circles of freshmen outside of Bobb. Freshman Freeze is being enforced pretty strictly this year, and I guess they don’t know what to do except litter frat row. I’m feeling sad for them… that is, until I get to the party.
I can’t move. The entire freshman class has somehow managed to squeeze into one house. They are multiplying. I literally believe that they are getting it on, getting pregnant, dropping babies on the frat floor whom apply to Northwestern, get in and go to this party.
I fought my way up the stairs and to the Jungle Juice only to find… nothing. I am informed that the alcohol has all been ingested by the freshmen girls, but if I’m still interested, they are probably throwing it back up right now.
Make a wish!
Hit on by a freshman guy?!?!?! Everybody who ever watched Daria: “Scandalous!”
Seriously, if asking for my name and my dorm isn’t the pickup line of the century, then by god, I don’t want to know what is. Oh, my major as well? You must really like me as a person.
I just saw three of my advisees! I have never been so proud.
Jungle Juice is back and weaker than Britney’s career. Everyone is confessing to how “totally wasted” they are despite this fact. Freshmen are violating each other on the dance floor. I didn’t know that doggie style was the hot new step.
Really, though. When I was a freshman during New Student Week, I was not this cool. I went to bed at midnight after going to the scheduled events at Cahn. This girl is getting impregnated at an off-campus party.
Freshman guy numero dos. Actually bold enough to introduce himself while I am walking on the couch, attempting to escape the crowd. I’m friendly – would you expect anything less from me?
I tell him I am a sophomore. He disappears.
Are freshmen girls really held to that reputation of being easy? Because it doesn’t seem very fair to them. There are lots of 18-year-olds with high standards, but never do the men mind that. One pseudo-friend keeps asking me to introduce him to my female peer advisees. It’s more than mildly creepy.
OH to the NO it’s the COPS, RUN!!!! Freshmen scatter into the night.
I loiter in a back alley. I have never sophomore slumped so badly. It is not even midnight. Friends want to hit another party, but I know when the battle’s been lost. I head back to Bobb.
I meet freshmen who live on my old floor, Allison 4th. I’m incredibly jealous. I can say this and that, but I wish I was still a freshman. Live the dream, class of 2011. Live the dream.