You’re in the elevator. Next to you, a nerdy kid, a jappy girl and a frat boy. You don’t want to judge, but you hate all of them instantly. You exit into the lounge to see a guy, a guy who looks like you, dresses like you, smells like you. At least you assume he smells like you. You don’t want to creep him out now by asking if you can smell him, but perhaps after your friendship has blossomed you can determine firsthand. He says, “‘Sup?” But what he’s really saying is, “Could I be your new best friend?”
Probably not. For one thing, nobody says “‘Sup,” anymore. For another thing, that was a stuffed version of your school’s mascot talking to you. You smoked too much pot before getting on that elevator.
Still, don’t get down on yourself. That could have been your new best friend. And, for all you know, it still may be. Stuffed mascots make for great friends.
But in search of some human friends””we’ll call the mascot path Plan B””you sit in the lounge and mingle. You laugh when everyone else laughs. You tell anecdotes similar to theirs. You’re connecting! You make plans to go out later that night, and when the time comes you head to the nicest frat on campus, bright-eyed, ready to mingle with the big men on campus, dance with the hottest girls, drink the finest ales and have countless stories with which to regale your fellow freshmen mates.
Unfortunately, you don’t get in. The party is already full. Also, you forgot to bring girls with you; you’re a freshman traveling with 19 other freshman dudes. You wind up going back to the dorm, splitting a six pack (all you were willing to risk buying with your older brother’s old ID) and watching Dodgeball on someone’s 13-inch Mac screen.
All in all, not a bad night.
Such is dorm life. It’s your chance to meet people, to build friendships, to learn about what kind of person you are and to, hopefully, meet your new best friend.
If all else fails, you’ve still got a bag of weed and a stuffed Otto the Orange to fall back on.
