Saying goodbye sucks. Unless you’re saying goodbye to Ramapo, which will be a joyous occasion celebrated on May 16th in the car-theft capital of America. But as far as saying goodbye to people, it can get a little dicey. For true friends, it won’t be too complicated, as you guys have already booked a house in Belmar for the summer. Even with fringe friends, at least there’s a system in place for parting ways: hug/shake hands, reference that one inside joke the two of you have from your Freshman Year Seminar class, promise to stay in touch through Facebook and weekend trips to Hoboken, and then never follow through with those plans.

But with graduation only 9 weeks away, how do we prepare for the goodbyes with those people? You knowthose people. They’re not your friends, or even your fringe friends. They’re the ones with whom you’ve associated justenough where a formal acknowledgement of never seeing each other again is required. Up until this point, the proper etiquette in this situation has been a mystery. But wait; Ramapo Basement saves the day once again. You’re welcome.

The Front Gate Opener Public Safety Guy

It’s been a long 4 years of “dropping something off in Laurel” for those of us who habitually forget our key cards. The days of winking, pointing your index finger, and making a clicking noise to the old, teddy bear looking PS guy will be long behind us come late May. But before I go, Mr. gate-button presser, I must thank you. Your negligence and downright lack of care for your job has allowed me to enter campus more times than I can remember (mainly because I was drunk driving in most cases) without the burden of the awkward extended reach card swipe. But alas, I am about to embark on a journey into the real world. A world where security gates mean something; a scary world. In honor of this being my last time wink-clicking my way through your slightly less than impenetrable barrier from the rest of campus, I feel I owe you the truth. I’m not actually dropping anything off in Laurel. I have class at 6 and I’m gonna park in the Laurel courts where your buddies will undoubtedly give me a ticket. It’s cool though, I’ll just say I was delivering pizza and get out of it.

Hot Bradley Center Card-Swipe Girls

Sure we’ve only spoken a few words in passing, but come on. Am I the only one that feels this tension? I mean, sometimes you guys even hand me my card before I say my name! That means we’re dating, right? Cool, I’ll pick you up at 8. All of you. The beauty that awaits a fitness enthusiast at the front desk of the Bradley Center accounts for nearly 70% of the male student body’s motivation to work out (stretch, Draw Something on phone, drop weight, repeat). We had a good run, girls, but now I must leave you. And don’t worry; I’ll have my Spring 2010 sticker tomorrow. I promise.

Sandwich Ladies

It’s okay. The words “no” and “extra” sound almost identical to me, as well. The oil and vinegar leaking through the paper and getting all over my fingers absolutely does not create a horrid smell immune to any average strength bar of soap. No, it builds character. Let’s just put the past behind us and agree to disagree on the issue of using tip-less golf pencils to fill out our sandwich requests. Personally, I’m more of a Wawa touch-screen kind of guy, but to each his own. Furthermore, I must thank you for the food you provide on a daily basis, as it helps me cope with the reality of eating Subway, a delicacy by comparison.

The Drug Dealer

I just want to let you know that all of those times you were “good,” you were great. The late nights, the lazy Wednesday afternoons, and even that one time my friend from Ramsey needed the herb. You were there for me, and “good” for her, which, in turn, was good for me. She gets handsy when she’s high. I cannot thank you enough for your time, your product, or even your weird scent, which I can only attempt to describe as a mixture of sweat induced by a Super Smash Brothers tournament and undercooked Bagel Bites. So thank you for not only this last bag, but also the countless number of “supa-fiya” bags before this. Here’s your 20 dollars, but (fake yawn) it sure is getting late. Probably just gonna hit this and go to sleep. No thanks; I’m not really in the mood to watch a documentary on Netflix. Goodnight! (Shuts door on face).

So there it is. Saying goodbye to those people should no longer rouse that hot flash feeling of impending awkwardness. We got you. Now all you have to worry about after graduation is navigating the walk to your car in Newark without getting stabbed.