2008 Woodie Awards
column about nothing: freshman faux pas
Morgan Nederhood
Issue date: 1/25/07 Section: Features
- Page 1 of 1
My first week as a college student, I had managed to commit every classic freshman faux pas. On the first day of classes, I walked into a supply closet instead of my philosophy room, thinking that 'DY 213' meant 'Donnelly 213.' Around the middle of the week I managed to lock myself out of my room. I blame this on my lock: it seems to have a mind of its own, and it habitually locks me out of my room for no reason. Well, I would not have minded being locked out, if not for the fact that I was in a towel and flip flops, and my R.A. was on the floor below me - the boys' floor. I had to recruit a room of random girls I'd never met before, but they took pity on my pathetic self and fetched the R.A. for me.
I changed my schedule towards the end of the week, so I tried to arrive early for my new math class. When I got there, I looked into the crowded and unfamiliar room; it occurred to me that class had already started. I snuck into the back of the room, took out my notebook, and realized I had no idea what the teacher was talking about. It turns out that I had arrived so early that I was sitting in the class before my own. To make matters worse, the teacher pointed me out to the class, so I tried to make myself look engrossed with something in my notebook. Needless to say, my first week at Marist had been humorous but slightly traumatizing.
While the second semester had proved to be less dramatic and mentally scarring, it nonetheless has left me in some noticeably awkward situations. On Wednesday morning, I was late to my first class and I was subjected to the chaos that ensues when you scramble to find a seat as quickly and silently as possible. To make matters worse, the class had stacks of chairs (not desks) and I was forced to struggle with a pile of chairs while the professor attempted to ignore me and conduct his class. After finally releasing a chair from the pile of its cohorts, I proceeded to remove my winter gear. Due to the frigid temperatures that day, I had dressed myself in so many layers that I resembled the Michelin Tire man, and it took me about ten minutes just to remove every layer. Obviously, I did not begin my class on the best of notes.
My depressing display of embarrassment was just another week in my life, to be completely honest. I have grown used to finding myself in awkward situations which are usually my fault, but I cannot say that they are altogether horrible. While I might suffer for a few minutes, what does it matter if I can recycle the story (usually long after if should have been retired) and use it for my amusement? Mortification and being uncomfortable are simply facts of life: you can either resist them, or just roll with the punches.
I changed my schedule towards the end of the week, so I tried to arrive early for my new math class. When I got there, I looked into the crowded and unfamiliar room; it occurred to me that class had already started. I snuck into the back of the room, took out my notebook, and realized I had no idea what the teacher was talking about. It turns out that I had arrived so early that I was sitting in the class before my own. To make matters worse, the teacher pointed me out to the class, so I tried to make myself look engrossed with something in my notebook. Needless to say, my first week at Marist had been humorous but slightly traumatizing.
While the second semester had proved to be less dramatic and mentally scarring, it nonetheless has left me in some noticeably awkward situations. On Wednesday morning, I was late to my first class and I was subjected to the chaos that ensues when you scramble to find a seat as quickly and silently as possible. To make matters worse, the class had stacks of chairs (not desks) and I was forced to struggle with a pile of chairs while the professor attempted to ignore me and conduct his class. After finally releasing a chair from the pile of its cohorts, I proceeded to remove my winter gear. Due to the frigid temperatures that day, I had dressed myself in so many layers that I resembled the Michelin Tire man, and it took me about ten minutes just to remove every layer. Obviously, I did not begin my class on the best of notes.
My depressing display of embarrassment was just another week in my life, to be completely honest. I have grown used to finding myself in awkward situations which are usually my fault, but I cannot say that they are altogether horrible. While I might suffer for a few minutes, what does it matter if I can recycle the story (usually long after if should have been retired) and use it for my amusement? Mortification and being uncomfortable are simply facts of life: you can either resist them, or just roll with the punches.
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