[Everyone’s got a morning after story and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]
Freshman year. What’s there to say? You go in with the best of intentions: not losing your scholarships, making the deans list, aiming for the toilet when you puke.
For me, the first few weeks of school went along like perfection. I had met the one goal I had set for myself, the top tip I read in all the college mags: get to know your professors. They all knew me by name, even the ones I had for packed seminar classes. My Sociology professor would go so far as to wave to me on campus. If that wasn’t an achievement, I don’t know what was. Plus, he looked just like Maury Povich, which – bonus – I thought was so cool.
Anyway, one evening I find myself in the library being an A+ scholar…sort of. Picture the scene: I’ve got a textbook open, my Starbucks in front of me, and I’m just jamming out to my iTunes when The Most Beautiful Guy in The World stands up and leans over the little desk divider. In an exact quote, he says, “I love that song.” Expletives abound in my brain as I rip out my ear buds, wondering if these charming blue eyes are really masking his rage at my liberal use of the volume-up button. In an ultimate loser move, I stare back in silence. “The Postal Service, right? Yeah, they’re really good,” he continues. I’m still staring. He’s drumming his fingers on my desk in rhythm with the music, which continues to play entirely too loud. “I’m Will….you are?” I finally blink, the first time since the start of this whole one-sided exchange, and mumble my name, choking halfway through the second syllable. “Okay, well then, I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” he goes, and then winks (which, for the record, did not come off even mildly cheesy) before sitting down and going back to work. Read More »
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