The following piece is satire and should not be misconstrued for actual reporting. Any resemblance to a student, staff or faculty member is coincidental.
I’m a freshman who wants to make friends on campus. I’m at the end of my first semester and I still feel so alone. What should I do?
AIDAN:
Here’s what I did and it worked great: start with something small, a paperclip, a thumbtack, a piece of lint or some other small garbage. Trade with your roommate for something slightly better like a battery or a pack of staples. Then go around your floor and knock on doors trying to barter your way up for bigger and better items. When you do this, remember the names and faces of everyone you encounter. These are your business partners, so it’d be rude not to. Don’t be afraid to backpedal, sometimes you trade away one color printer for two lollipops and that's okay. Your end game is the most valuable item on campus: Clawed Z. Eagle. Once you trade your way up to the king, shake their hand and unlock the keys to the kingdom. Weak beta eagles will fear and respect the mom-and-pop startup-pilled alpha Eagle-chad you’ve become.
JAS:
Donate your body to science! It’ll make the seven STEM students so happy.
INDIA:
So, the first thing you’re going to do next semester is join a club. Doesn’t really matter which one. It can even be a club sport. It can even be pickleball. You’ll spend the first semester slowly but surely building yourself up as a solid presence. At the start of next year you’ll run for executive board. Nothing crazy of course. Perhaps an events coordinator or even a PR chair. You’re not here to ruffle feathers, just to run the Instagram. Through your long nights running with this scrappy band you’ll grow close with your fellow leaders. Well, especially with one in particular. That’s right: club-cest! You’ll engage in flirtations in places sociologists never thought possible. You’re getting hot and heavy on Slack. You’re using EMS for all the wrong reasons. Young love is beautiful, wild and now trackable on Engage. And don’t worry, it will never go wrong. Never.
ERIC:
It’s simple, take one of the lumpy cardboard abominations Terrace Dining Room calls a “bagel” (bringing out my inner New Jersey rage) and sprinkle crumbs back to your dorm. Hungry upperclassmen lacking meal plans will graciously follow the trail back to your room and meet up with the rats and woodland creatures they’ll inevitably find along the way. Together, they’ll Cinderella-style assemble the most beautiful outfit to ever grace Letts Hall for you, where it will sit stylishly in your closet while you continue to wallow in your Teletubby pajamas for the rest of the semester.
JACK:
Picture this. Your future best friend walks out of Mary Graydon Center. Maybe they had a meeting there, or maybe they’ve just eaten at TDR. Either way, they’re not in the best mood. Looking out at the quad, they see a table right in front of the flagpole. They’re intrigued. What could it be? Is it another indistinguishable sorority? Maybe it’s one of our fine religious groups, here to politely inform you that your god is wrong? Or is it just ultimate frisbee for the fifth day in a row? No. It’s you! Standing there is all your glory, just waiting for you to sweep them off their feet. Whether you’re passing out flyers or just offering QR codes to scan, nothing says friendship like tabling.
This piece was written by the Satire staff. It was edited by India Siecke, Rebeca Samano Arellano and Abigail Turner. Copy editing done by Luna Jinks, Nicole Kariuki, Charlie Mennuti and Ella Rousseau.
