Chapter Three - The Disorienting Process of Orientation
Whoever said "misery loves company" must've been rich in the former and poor in the latter. As I found myself slogging through the experience of having no friends, no points of reference, and no place to run, the knowledge that a little over 650 other people on the same campus were going through the same thing was of little comfort.
The way that Allegheny structured its orientation process so that the students managed to adjust within a few weeks, rather than a few semesters, was to have each Freshman Seminar class form into a "peer group." Basically, it was the fifteen or so freshmen and a pair of sophomores who'd taken the same FS the year before in addition to some sort of bribe this year. They were to accompany us to classes all semester. In the meantime, they were going to help us acclimate in the first twelve days of college, a period in which there were no actual classes scheduled, and I think would have been delightful if I'd had things such as friends.
My peer leaders were Duncan Smith and Kira Vega. Smitty was the kind of guy I would just kind of mutter under my breath about as I passed his type in the hall during high school; too much of a lightweight to be a jock, but a definite partier. He had an effortless charisma with women that I will forever envy. Kira was interesting in that she could switch between intelligent upperclassmen and utter ditz at a speed that would give anyone else whiplash.
One other person caught my eye among my new classmates. The namecard he'd been issued read "Byron Chandler," but he'd crossed out the first name. Chandler had a few qualities in common with me--sarcastic T-shirt, short goatee, etc. But he had a confident, devil-may-care attitude that I would've killed for. He looked like he'd gone through orientation a million times before, but it still hadn't got old. He seemed to be enjoying every minute.
As for the rest of the class, they were an unremarkable lot that I would've expected in any classroom. There was the blonde girl-athelete, the ex-cheerleader, a couple potheads, the overachiever, and of course the ugly slut with no self-esteem. In case you haven't figured out by now, I was the intelligent but self-conscious semi-geek with an eternally pessimistic outlook on life based on endless harassment in high school. Don't get me wrong, I had fun and all, but it was mostly after I decided, "Fuck it, I'm going to do what makes me happy, not what those bastards chuckling in the corner happy." And then there was Chandler.
To this day I have no idea if the following incident was in some form scripted by the college or if it was merely the warped mind of Kira Vega in action. She and Smitty (who kept chuckling) led us onto the lawn outside the Carnegie Building (is there a college campus in America that doesn't have a Carnegie Building?). It was a beautiful day at the end of August, about 80 degrees, a pleasant breeze, not a cloud in the sky. We all sat in a circle under one of the trees on the lawn. It was a perfectly idyllic scene.
Kira opened up her peer leader folder, leafed through a few pages, and scowled. Then she looked up and said, "Okay, this is going to be fun. First, I want each of you to say what chore you hate doing at home the most and why, and make sure you remember what you say."
We looked at each other kind of awkwardly. Of course, that was pretty much the only way to look at people we were capable of executing at this point. A pretty little brunette named Monica began the circle with, "I hate cleaning my cat's litter box, because it's always so dirty and it smells really bad."
A few freshmen later, Chandler was up. "I hate having to make the bed, because I know I'm just going to have to do it again the next morning."
I had sat next to Chandler, so I was up next. "I hate emptying the dishwasher, because it seems like I'm the only one in my house who still knows how to do it."
A few people down the line, the procession of domestic complaints ended with an Italian guy saying, "I hate having to clean up the bedroom I share with my brother; he always makes a mess." At this point, Smitty just shook his head and stifled a laugh. The rest of us were understandably nervous.
"OK, now that everyone's gone," said Kira, "I want you to say the same sentence you just did, but instead of saying the chore, say 'having sex.'"
"Um, what?" asked the Italian kid.
"Say exactly what you said before, but with 'having sex' in place of the chore." said Kira. Smitty was avoiding eye contact with any of us.
With a little more encouragement, the pretty brunette was coaxed into saying, "I hate having sex, because it's always so dirty and it smells really bad." There was a chorus of nervous laughter. Two strands of confident laughter arose from among it, one from Smitty and the other from Chandler. As the circle worked its embarrassing way towards us, Chandler seemed to be anticipating his turn. When it came time, he stood up.
"Well, I jutht hate having thex, becauthe I know I'm jutht going to have to do it again the nectht morning! Honethtly, there'th jutht no pleathing some people!"
As Chandler sat down, a mammoth grin on his face, Smitty teetered over onto his side in a fit of laughter. A few seconds later, the crowd was roaring. I was impressed.
I was tempted to copy Chandler's routine, but decided it would be a cheap ripoff. Instead, I went for the false confidence I'd learned in high school. "What can I say, folks? I hate having sex because it seems like I'm the only one in my house who still knows how to do it." The reaction wasn't quite up to Chandler's, but it was good enough.
When it came time for the Italian kid to go, he hesitated. He looked like he might chicken out. Apparently the expectant stares got the best of him, though. "I-hate-having-sex-with-my-brother-he-always-makes-a-mess," came the hurried monotone.
Kira wiped some tears from her eyes. "Okay, that's it for today. We'll meet you all at Brooks Circle at 7 tonight for the 'Sex Talk.'"
"Wait, then what did we just do?" asked the indignant Italian kid.
"It's called an 'Icebreaker.' See you at seven!" with that, Kira walked off. I turned to my right.
"The name's Mark. How's it going?" I asked, keeping up the false confidence. If he'd shot down my attempt to reach out, I think I would've broken down and cried.
"Hey, my name's Byron, but I hate it, so just call me Chandler." he said, shaking my hand. "So, you want to hit up the dining hall?"
"Sounds good to me."
The way that Allegheny structured its orientation process so that the students managed to adjust within a few weeks, rather than a few semesters, was to have each Freshman Seminar class form into a "peer group." Basically, it was the fifteen or so freshmen and a pair of sophomores who'd taken the same FS the year before in addition to some sort of bribe this year. They were to accompany us to classes all semester. In the meantime, they were going to help us acclimate in the first twelve days of college, a period in which there were no actual classes scheduled, and I think would have been delightful if I'd had things such as friends.
My peer leaders were Duncan Smith and Kira Vega. Smitty was the kind of guy I would just kind of mutter under my breath about as I passed his type in the hall during high school; too much of a lightweight to be a jock, but a definite partier. He had an effortless charisma with women that I will forever envy. Kira was interesting in that she could switch between intelligent upperclassmen and utter ditz at a speed that would give anyone else whiplash.
One other person caught my eye among my new classmates. The namecard he'd been issued read "Byron Chandler," but he'd crossed out the first name. Chandler had a few qualities in common with me--sarcastic T-shirt, short goatee, etc. But he had a confident, devil-may-care attitude that I would've killed for. He looked like he'd gone through orientation a million times before, but it still hadn't got old. He seemed to be enjoying every minute.
As for the rest of the class, they were an unremarkable lot that I would've expected in any classroom. There was the blonde girl-athelete, the ex-cheerleader, a couple potheads, the overachiever, and of course the ugly slut with no self-esteem. In case you haven't figured out by now, I was the intelligent but self-conscious semi-geek with an eternally pessimistic outlook on life based on endless harassment in high school. Don't get me wrong, I had fun and all, but it was mostly after I decided, "Fuck it, I'm going to do what makes me happy, not what those bastards chuckling in the corner happy." And then there was Chandler.
To this day I have no idea if the following incident was in some form scripted by the college or if it was merely the warped mind of Kira Vega in action. She and Smitty (who kept chuckling) led us onto the lawn outside the Carnegie Building (is there a college campus in America that doesn't have a Carnegie Building?). It was a beautiful day at the end of August, about 80 degrees, a pleasant breeze, not a cloud in the sky. We all sat in a circle under one of the trees on the lawn. It was a perfectly idyllic scene.
Kira opened up her peer leader folder, leafed through a few pages, and scowled. Then she looked up and said, "Okay, this is going to be fun. First, I want each of you to say what chore you hate doing at home the most and why, and make sure you remember what you say."
We looked at each other kind of awkwardly. Of course, that was pretty much the only way to look at people we were capable of executing at this point. A pretty little brunette named Monica began the circle with, "I hate cleaning my cat's litter box, because it's always so dirty and it smells really bad."
A few freshmen later, Chandler was up. "I hate having to make the bed, because I know I'm just going to have to do it again the next morning."
I had sat next to Chandler, so I was up next. "I hate emptying the dishwasher, because it seems like I'm the only one in my house who still knows how to do it."
A few people down the line, the procession of domestic complaints ended with an Italian guy saying, "I hate having to clean up the bedroom I share with my brother; he always makes a mess." At this point, Smitty just shook his head and stifled a laugh. The rest of us were understandably nervous.
"OK, now that everyone's gone," said Kira, "I want you to say the same sentence you just did, but instead of saying the chore, say 'having sex.'"
"Um, what?" asked the Italian kid.
"Say exactly what you said before, but with 'having sex' in place of the chore." said Kira. Smitty was avoiding eye contact with any of us.
With a little more encouragement, the pretty brunette was coaxed into saying, "I hate having sex, because it's always so dirty and it smells really bad." There was a chorus of nervous laughter. Two strands of confident laughter arose from among it, one from Smitty and the other from Chandler. As the circle worked its embarrassing way towards us, Chandler seemed to be anticipating his turn. When it came time, he stood up.
"Well, I jutht hate having thex, becauthe I know I'm jutht going to have to do it again the nectht morning! Honethtly, there'th jutht no pleathing some people!"
As Chandler sat down, a mammoth grin on his face, Smitty teetered over onto his side in a fit of laughter. A few seconds later, the crowd was roaring. I was impressed.
I was tempted to copy Chandler's routine, but decided it would be a cheap ripoff. Instead, I went for the false confidence I'd learned in high school. "What can I say, folks? I hate having sex because it seems like I'm the only one in my house who still knows how to do it." The reaction wasn't quite up to Chandler's, but it was good enough.
When it came time for the Italian kid to go, he hesitated. He looked like he might chicken out. Apparently the expectant stares got the best of him, though. "I-hate-having-sex-with-my-brother-he-always-makes-a-mess," came the hurried monotone.
Kira wiped some tears from her eyes. "Okay, that's it for today. We'll meet you all at Brooks Circle at 7 tonight for the 'Sex Talk.'"
"Wait, then what did we just do?" asked the indignant Italian kid.
"It's called an 'Icebreaker.' See you at seven!" with that, Kira walked off. I turned to my right.
"The name's Mark. How's it going?" I asked, keeping up the false confidence. If he'd shot down my attempt to reach out, I think I would've broken down and cried.
"Hey, my name's Byron, but I hate it, so just call me Chandler." he said, shaking my hand. "So, you want to hit up the dining hall?"
"Sounds good to me."
posted by Andrew Michael at 1:57 AM
1 Comments:
Hey Andrew(this is Ken Safranek)(yes i had to add my last name just in case you forgot)(yes thats three of these in a row, probably not the best thing to do when im typing to an english major)anyways, you got a real knack for this kind of stuff and I get a kick out of reading it. So keep up the good work and remember to tell me when you books get published so I can read them. Good Luck in college
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