Salon.com > Freshman Orientation

The friend who saved my college years

Sat, 08 Oct 2011 00:00:00 +0000

I'll come out and say it: I chose my college for the money. The place had its perks -- a stellar journalism program, a picturesque campus -- but it was a far cry from my dream school. The enticing financial aid package they offered made up my mind.

"You’ll love it here," my parents assured me. Looking around at the beaming faces of my fellow freshmen the first day of school, my stomach churned with uncertainty. These kids looked a lot like the people I didn't like at my high school: Coach bags, Lacoste alligators on every chest, blond highlights zebra-streaking the girls’ hair, the guys hiding behind mirrored Ray Bans. And me? I made my own purses out of duct tape, bought my clothes at Macy’s on sale and dyed my hair burgundy some months, tomato-red others.

I spent the majority of my first nights looking to drown my loneliness at the on-campus apartments. Every evening, I shimmied into my tightest jeans and a v-neck top that didn’t look too off-brand, covered my eyes in black shadow and masked my nervousness with Maybelline. I hid behind a solo cup, a come-hither smile warding off meaningful conversation. Every morning, I awoke to blinding sunlight and the realization that I was having the stereotypical college experience the movies had warned me about: booze-soaked, rap-infused and vapid.

The freshman year I couldn't handle

Sat, 01 Oct 2011 00:01:00 +0000

I was the shy girl in high school. The one who didn't smile or join the clubs. The one who didn't get chosen for sports teams but had everyone trying to copy off her tests. The one who was, on the inside, desperately lonely. I couldn't wait to get out of high school; I stayed in my room and studied so I could get good grades and go to college to start my "real life." When I went away, I thought I would finally be able to reinvent myself. Or perhaps invent myself for the first time.

When I arrived at the orientation for incoming freshmen, the huge auditorium was packed to capacity. Despite the lack of adequate air conditioning, the room buzzed with excitement. The crowd quieted as everyone noticed the lone bearded man in a stereotypical tan corduroy jacket standing at the podium, patiently waiting for their attention. This is it, I thought. This was the moment that would change my life.

I listened intently to the speaker's words. Although the speech was long and boring, I'll never forget one comment the man made: "Everyone look at the person seated next to you. One of you won't be here next year." Nervous laughter filled the room. I feigned confidence; I, for one, was here to stay.

The college hazing that changed my life

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 00:01:00 +0000

I had no idea college was going to be so much like a gay porn movie. That's what I kept thinking as I stood in the middle of a sun-dappled backyard, dressed in nothing but a spandex unitard and running shoes, preparing to have oil poured over my body. For the last two hours, 10 other young rowers and I had been undergoing "initiation" to my university's varsity crew team. After two weeks of tryouts, we had finally made the grade, and this was our reward: An afternoon of embarrassing hazing activities, followed by a homoerotic climax that seemed to have come straight out of my 17-year-old gay subconscious.

Our team captain, a 200-pound hulk of a man, was walking from freshman to freshman with a large vat of vegetable oil, and letting it cascade all over them one by one. "Be prepared to have the worst acne of your lives over the next week," he warned us. A tarp nearby had also been covered in oil, and other members of the team were streaming into the backyard with bottles of beer to watch what was about to happen. When my turn came, I closed my eyes. As I felt the liquid drip into my shoes, he leaned over and said, "Get ready to wrestle."