Before I start this let’s all say this out loud, “I (state your name), at one point in my life have (possibly) been a college freshman.” There, now you don’t have to lie to yourself and pretend you skipped that step in your pursuit of a higher education. Because you didn’t. You were just as awkward as everyone else.
So, taking from my experience of being a freshman - and the last two years I spent observing them - I’m going to make a list on how to spot the telltale signs of being the fresh meat. Because that’s what they are: dinner for the amusement of their older and wiser peers. And I mean wiser in the sense that we know how many beers we can drink before we vomit in that poor shrubbery I mentioned last time. (I do not endorse drinking beers until you vomit)
You’re a freshman; you’re not fooling anyone:
If you see a pack, then it’s a group of freshman. And I’m not talking three to four people; I’m talking nine to ten. Why are all of these people necessary? Most likely they had some awkward encounter during those horrible peer mentor activities and now they’re convinced they’re bonded forever. This is false. I don’t remember anyone I had to hug that day, and I know the number was around thirteen. In fact, within the pack that I clung to for the first two weeks, I hated most of them. Freshman are like leeches, they don’t go away until your burn them off.
If you can see a lanyard on or near any part of their body, it’s a freshman. Don’t let the backwards lanyard fool you, it’s most likely a jock or a bro trying to pass for “cool” but failing miserably.
If you see a tray, it’s a freshman. That or a laxer who needs all that space for his three plates and four cups of PowerAde (Note this is in violation of dining hall rule #6). But if you notice those things absent from said tray, your first assumption was correct. You have indeed spotted another freshman.
When you’re at a party and you see a bunch of people you don’t know, said party has been invaded and you should leave as soon as possible. Freshmen are loud and obnoxious, and lets face it, inconsiderate. If you made a bucket of jungle juice, consider it gone.
If you’re at a party and you can spot more than three girls crying, they’re all freshman. There’s just something about a frat party that makes ‘em cry.
Are they walking across a Wash Ave? Congratulations, you’ve spotted another one! Or you’ve spied a really antisocial upperclassman that decided they’d rather live in the shit hole that is Minta than find three friends (actually you don’t even have to like them) and live somewhere halfway decent where you don’t have to worry about mice getting into your Captain Crunch box. Bastards got mine every time.
The new Mac Books. Now, I’m not hatin’ on new Macs, (‘cause they’re super pretty) but if you have one you’re basically a walking billboard shouting, “HEY I’M NEW, LOOK HOW SHINY MY KEYS ARE.” My white Mac book circa 2008 has seen much better days. My “enter” key is disgusting and I have so many dents that I’m sure one more could be the end of my baby. Which would suck ‘cause I still need it to pull out one more year and 35 pages of death that will be my very shitty thesis.
They’re a freshman if they disobey every one of the rules I previously gave in regards to the dining hall.
Sadly, you will not be able to implement these trusty techniques for some months to come. But it’s something I definitely I look forward to during the summer. I dream about it when I’m shoveling out popcorn to ungrateful pimply teenagers who will one day suffer through their freshman year. The thought is so much more satisfying than thinking they’ll never even graduate high school. I want them to graduate, because they leave thinking they’re the top of the food chain, and then come to the realization that they’re once again the bottom on the totem pole. Suck it, losers.
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