As freshmen, we’re catapulted into our adult lives with three things; a desire to get “turnt”, a box of Cliff Bars, and a smidgen of blindingly false confidence. These powerful forces may have been all that helped us hold our heads high as we stepped out of our crammed-with-things-we-didn’t-need minivans, repeating a silent mantra like, “honestly just don’t be a fool” to ourselves in a state of fervent embarrassment. We played it cool for a while, tricked our suitemates into being our friends, and our RAs into thinking we were functional members of Skidmore society. Everything was going well, almost too well, of course, until it happens. You know what I mean. That one truly mortifying thing we do early in our college career that’s been set aside by Satan himself to set the tone of the rest of our lives. As badly as we want to pack up, graduate, and get the Hell off of campus afterwards, we freshman have four more years of tomfoolery to suffer through. So here I am, prepared to share my own personal shame for the benefit of others, in the hopes that we all remember to laugh at ourselves, and successfully keep that smidgen of false confidence in our pockets for as long as possible.
My fateful moment came on my first day of classes. I trudged across campus in search of a building I was at least 400% positive had never existed, and probably would never exist, despite the fact that it had been right across from Case the entire time. After realizing my directional stupidity, I miserably shook my fists at the sky, cursed my family name, and headed into Bolton. To my delight, I found that my classroom was essentially full of people. My desk options were few, so I quietly slid into a seat, paying little attention to the lucky soul next to me. I had just enough time to unpack my bag and twiddle my thumbs before my phone made an unusual sound. I hardly even had time to check it before I heard a voice next to me, “what was that?” I was deeply confused as to why a stranger would be talking to me, but I look up to see a man so handsome that my heart, to this very day a month later, has a murmur. My head spun, this was my chance to enchant him, my time to show him how funny I can be, how suave. With a needless quirk of my eyebrow I turned to him, “Oh,” my voice proudly boomed, “that’s just how I fart”.
In my 18 years on this tiny planet, I haven’t once seen anyone look so horrified. He didn’t smile, or laugh, he just sat there with his mouth agape in a way that conveyed only the most disgruntledly repulsion. I tried to recover. “No,” I started desperately, “it was my phone, see? My cellphone.” I had just enough time to laugh manically before class began, and we never spoke again.
And yet here I am! A month later, still alive, still not farting like a text-tone, and still laughing at the fear I saw in this mans’ eyes when I made my awful joke. Freshman year is a ridiculous time of life in which we’re forced to make fools of ourselves daily, and do our best to not let it affect us in the long run. We’re bound to embarrass ourselves, to make mistakes, and to regret at least one thing we do per day; but that’s just what freshman year is. So, after you have your moment, whether it entails shouting about flatulence, spilling pasta all over that shiny d-hall floor, or falling flat on your face, remember that it happens to all of us. The best way to get over our freshman embarrassment is to share it, laugh at it, and move on. That’s what I’m doing, and that’s exactly what I hope you do too.