I'm pretty sure I'm in the running for most freshman freshman. In the first few weeks of school, I have: Asked for directions to Carmichael, name−dropped the one senior I know at least once a conversation, asked for directions to Mail Services, done the Saturday night "where's−the−party waltz," only to end up in bed by midnight, asked for directions to Cabot and asked for directions to Hillsides.
"Wow," you must be thinking. "This girl isn't cool at all!" And you are so right. But believe me when I say it gets better — for your general amusement, not for me.
Given my record, I should have seen it coming. It was a Thursday, and I had eaten a super−late breakfast, so I left for lunch at 4 p.m. (CoLlEgElyFe!!!!1!). Too self−conscious to eat alone, I checked my dorm's common room. Everyone was either immersed in their homework or napping. I walked up and down the halls two, maybe six times. A dining mate never materialized.
Defeated, I left for Dewick on my own — the solo trek to a meal: a walk of shame without bragging rights. I had heard that they were serving avocados that day, so I figured that I could at least drown my loneliness in some rich, green goodness.
Dewick at 4 is a sad place indeed. I scrounged through the dregs of what I can only imagine must have been, just a few hours earlier, an enticing lunch spread. I sighed and settled on a salad. I asked a kind Tufts University Dining Services (TUDS) lady where I could find an avocado. She said they had only been set out for breakfast, but lo and behold: Some higher power guided her hand to the produce compartment, and I was presented with a leathery fruit of my deepest cravings — TUDS folks, you light up my life.
Avocado and salad in hand, I set off in search of a familiar face. The main dining area was a no−go. The back part followed suit. I had lost the naivete I had been graced with circa Orientation — the naivete that had me convinced that it was socially acceptable to sit with complete strangers and strike up some killer small talk. Before surrendering myself to the prospect of eating alone, I decided to venture upstairs.
I tripped. I tripped and spilled salad everywhere. Climbing stairs is one skill I never quite mastered. Do you wanna know what the worst part was? There was no friend there to laugh at me and make a big deal out of everything. No one to bring it up every chance they get for the next couple weeks while I pretend to be embarrassed when really I'm just relieved that they find me emotionally stable enough to handle a little teasing.
But I was a fool and came to D−Mac alone. It was just me and a dining hall full of people who were cooler than I am, simply by way of not being covered in lettuce.
Side note: Thanks to everyone who avoided eye contact with me. I've decided that in this type of situation it's best to let the weak suffer silently.
At this point, I was looking rull cute. There was little stopping me from standing up, spreading my arms, and proclaiming to those in the near vicinity that "I AM GRADUATING IN THE YEAR 2015," when an angel of an upperclassman came to my rescue with a basket of napkins and a smile.
The moral of the story is, no matter how much goes wrong, everything will be OK because avocados have that thick, nasty skin so you can eat them even if they fall.
Also, next time, I'm going to Hodgdon.
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Hannah Furgang is a freshman who has not yet declared a major. She can be reached at Hannah.Furgang@tufts.edu.
