An alarm clock screams across the halls of Johnson, waking an anxious young man from his slumber. He wipes the sleep from his eyes and is filled with a sudden excitement, knowing that today is the day he begins college classes... This is not his story.
Over on Second Naked (a name I am beginning to understand more and more), I am jolted awake by a sudden fear, almost as if my body sensed imminent death and tried kicking itself awake. I glance over at my phone, barely making out the time of 7:46. Having an 8 o' clock class, this concerned me a bit. How I remember the following sequence of events: feet meet the floor; brush teeth; heart palpitations; pants; belt; shirt... does this one match? Will this make me look fat? Oh, why was I cursed with a sense of style!? This is no time to match, I'm about to be late for French - sacrebleu!
Upon finalizing my T-shirt decision, I make my way to my first ever big boy class. It was uneventful enough; however, I was so out of it I could barely speak English, let alone French. "Je m'appelle Zack! Ho, ho, ho!" I whisper to myself in a thick accent on the way back to the dorm. I swipe my student ID, and... denied. Once more, denied. Banging on the door produces no results, no help from inside. Fantastic, now I'll probably have to pay a fine to get my card replaced; that combined with the $83 I just spent on a workbook - that I won't be able to return! - ensures that I'll be eating nothing but Top Ramen this semester. Oh, my aching wallet. I peer around for a kind soul to ferry me into the dorm when I realize I am not where I thought I was. Trustees has a big wooden swing in front of it, this building did not. I begin to slowly back away. "Ha ha, whoops!" I say to no one. With as much machismo as I can muster, I casually strut to my actual housing and, upon shutting the door, collapse in a pile of embarrassment. It's gonna be some year, huh?
A fly latches its tiny mandibles delicately onto my hotdog, probably excreting some disgusting insect vomit onto my once promising bratwurst. "Get off," I tell the vile beast. He probably didn't hear me, so I shout again, "Go away!" Still no movement. "Okay, fine, just eat it, eat all of it; it's yours." Promptly, the bug takes flight never to be seen again. First, he spits on my hotdog and then in my face - what a jerk. I finish my dinner and rise up from my grassy seat to continue the adventure that is the co-curricular fair. (I really needed a break after doing all that walking and candy eating.) Oh, look, an educational tour of Greece! Sign me up! Men's glee club? Absolutely! Mentoring underprivileged youth in inner-city Lexington? You bet. What's that? "Feed the pygmy elephants"? I love pygmy elephants! By the end of the event I had registered for sixteen mission trips, thirty-three clubs, something called "The Collegian", and I'm actually pretty sure I adopted a third-world child. Okay, so maybe I got into a little too much, but that's what college is all about, right? Experiencing new things, venturing outside your comfort zone, and just plain having fun. Plus, I'm only taking seventeen credit hours, so what could it hurt?
I am now in my third week of "higher education" and, having already lost my roommate to bedbugs, I find myself alone in my room wondering just how in the world I'm going to juggle everything: all of my classes, my Zimbabwean son Chamakomo (who, oddly, refuses to eat the Café food), and being this ridiculously good-looking. But, somehow, I'll make it. After all, there will always be a job waiting for me at McDonald's.
Over on Second Naked (a name I am beginning to understand more and more), I am jolted awake by a sudden fear, almost as if my body sensed imminent death and tried kicking itself awake. I glance over at my phone, barely making out the time of 7:46. Having an 8 o' clock class, this concerned me a bit. How I remember the following sequence of events: feet meet the floor; brush teeth; heart palpitations; pants; belt; shirt... does this one match? Will this make me look fat? Oh, why was I cursed with a sense of style!? This is no time to match, I'm about to be late for French - sacrebleu!
Upon finalizing my T-shirt decision, I make my way to my first ever big boy class. It was uneventful enough; however, I was so out of it I could barely speak English, let alone French. "Je m'appelle Zack! Ho, ho, ho!" I whisper to myself in a thick accent on the way back to the dorm. I swipe my student ID, and... denied. Once more, denied. Banging on the door produces no results, no help from inside. Fantastic, now I'll probably have to pay a fine to get my card replaced; that combined with the $83 I just spent on a workbook - that I won't be able to return! - ensures that I'll be eating nothing but Top Ramen this semester. Oh, my aching wallet. I peer around for a kind soul to ferry me into the dorm when I realize I am not where I thought I was. Trustees has a big wooden swing in front of it, this building did not. I begin to slowly back away. "Ha ha, whoops!" I say to no one. With as much machismo as I can muster, I casually strut to my actual housing and, upon shutting the door, collapse in a pile of embarrassment. It's gonna be some year, huh?
A fly latches its tiny mandibles delicately onto my hotdog, probably excreting some disgusting insect vomit onto my once promising bratwurst. "Get off," I tell the vile beast. He probably didn't hear me, so I shout again, "Go away!" Still no movement. "Okay, fine, just eat it, eat all of it; it's yours." Promptly, the bug takes flight never to be seen again. First, he spits on my hotdog and then in my face - what a jerk. I finish my dinner and rise up from my grassy seat to continue the adventure that is the co-curricular fair. (I really needed a break after doing all that walking and candy eating.) Oh, look, an educational tour of Greece! Sign me up! Men's glee club? Absolutely! Mentoring underprivileged youth in inner-city Lexington? You bet. What's that? "Feed the pygmy elephants"? I love pygmy elephants! By the end of the event I had registered for sixteen mission trips, thirty-three clubs, something called "The Collegian", and I'm actually pretty sure I adopted a third-world child. Okay, so maybe I got into a little too much, but that's what college is all about, right? Experiencing new things, venturing outside your comfort zone, and just plain having fun. Plus, I'm only taking seventeen credit hours, so what could it hurt?
I am now in my third week of "higher education" and, having already lost my roommate to bedbugs, I find myself alone in my room wondering just how in the world I'm going to juggle everything: all of my classes, my Zimbabwean son Chamakomo (who, oddly, refuses to eat the Café food), and being this ridiculously good-looking. But, somehow, I'll make it. After all, there will always be a job waiting for me at McDonald's.
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