When I was accepted to Boston University four years ago, all I read of the letter was ‘Congratulations Miss . . .’ and then immediately posted the news on my MySpace and drove all of my high school textbooks into the arid Southern California desert and buried them alive.
These actions were consequential. Because I never read my acceptance letter, the first day of class included the discovery that I was in the ‘College of General Studies’ instead of a real college. My negligence also caused me to be unaware of any orientation activities, and I simply showed up at Warren Towers in August with my new laptop and drinking face on.
‘ I still feel like I missed something integral by skipping orientation. When people say ‘we met at orientation,’ or ‘we made out at orientation,’ I get insanely jealous.
The rest of my college experience has been spent in paranoia that I would graduate with that same feeling of exclusion that I felt by missing orientation. So I beg of you, seniors, please don’t make the same mistake I did or you may spend the next four years upset that you missed an epic frat party or chance to complete the ‘Rhett’s Challenge’ while your metabolism is still high. There is no reason we should graduate without doing all of the things we were meant to do as 18- to 22-year-old sexy co-eds. We have more than enough time to complete the essentials. They are:
Make a friend. Make out with a friend. Make out with a stranger. Go home with a stranger. Find out that stranger is your friend’s roommate. Talk about it four years later and pretend you don’t remember because you were sooooo wasted.
Take advantage of getting someone to misdiagnose your pink eye for pregnancy at Student Health Services while your parents are still paying for insurance. Lose a few pounds at the gym because the only workout facility you’ll be able to afford after graduation will be your old elementary school playground.
If you’re moving away, make sure to take in an artsy film at the Coolidge Corner Theatre, have a delicious dinner with a breathtaking view at Top of the Hub and get arrested for punching people in Southie before you pack up.
Following this advice is easy, but what I’m having trouble with is that when I look back on my college career, I can’t help but see that the whole thing was sort of worthless. I spent four years massacring my GPA taking classes for a minor in the ugly beast subject of sociology. Every sociology class I took was in a room with no windows and taught by a professor that hated sociology as much as I did. I never read a single reading, so I might not even know how to read anymore. College made me lose brain cells ‘-‘- not by pot and booze, but by looking things up on Wikipedia the night before a final.
I failed miserably at extra curricular’s as well. I joined the College of Communication Student Assembly but left in embarrassment when they vetoed my idea for a Pirate vs. Viking-themed COM Prom. I devoted months of my life to my sketch comedy troupe, which holds the same importance on my resume as my 6-year-old and expired lifeguard certification. I take pride in graduating as a trained journalist, but I never learned about radio and I was so bitter that I didn’t land the role I auditioned for on BUTV’s ‘Bay State’ that I never went back.
I also spent more than $300 getting trashed every week at the BU Pub just so I could be knighted. I have no idea where my knight’s mug is. Or where my pants are.
I spent a great deal of energy building relationships and making delicious drunkchies. Now people tell me that these things will not get me a good paying job. I thought I was a superstar for having three different internships at newspapers, but those are useless because in a year, blogs are going to turn evil and eat all newspapers of the world starting with The Boston Globe.
I imagine some of you can relate to my feeling that I should have done so much more with the opportunities BU gave me, and those of you cum laude people are laughing because it was me you stepped on to get to where you are. But you have regrets too. You’ve walked by the Indian dance groups practicing in the lobby of the College of Arts and Sciences and wish you had tried out. You’ve wondered about being more sexually experimental since you have the excuse of being ‘young and in college.’ So do it. There’s still time.
I can’t say what we will be feeling in two months, but I imagine it will feel a lot like 8 p.m. on Marathon Monday. I’m not looking forward to it and neither are any of you, but I’m not opposed to being the creepy super senior at the BU Pub reminiscing about winning iPods at hockey games and asking anyone if they can sign me into a dorm for mozzarella sticks at Late Nite. I know that whatever regrets I have will be a sufficient price to pay considering I would never give up the fun I had. At least I learned early on not to make out with strangers. That would have been bad in the real world.