Adam Ruins Everything
Jake and Amir
The Honest Campus Tour Guide
May 9, 2007
Welcome, prospective students. I'm here to show you a very superficial version of what your life could be like for the next four years because I need the money. I don't actually care if you come here. I might say I do, but seriously, who the f*ck are you? Man, I'm hung over.
To your left is the library. You'll spend a lot of time there pretending to study while you're actually on Facebook. It's a lot harder to study in a large area full of people than it is to study in your quiet bedroom. But you're not there to study, you're there to pick up chicks. Oh, and freshman year you'll have some teacher who gives you a project that involves finding specific books so you can learn about how the library works, as if you'll ever actually read a book instead of plagiarizing off the web. Whatever.
To your right, you'll see the dining hall. There, your parents will pony up $13 a meal for you to have overcooked pasta and wilted lettuce. You will complain about how bad the food is, but still steal as much of it as you can.
We're walking, we're walking. Sorry, all tour guides have to say that now because we're wholly uncreative at this time in the morning. I don't even remember what movie that's from. Dave? I should have had more water last night.
Here's the science building. That's where dorks go to die. For the engineers in the group, you'll disappear into it October of freshman year, and emerge just in time to take your senior picture. No one else in that picture will have any idea who you are.
Did you know at that spot over there, something not quite historic happened? And over the years, the story has been exaggerated to make it seem important. You'll remember the story your whole life, and curse yourself for knowing it instead of something that matters.
We're now standing on "the beach." It's really just a patch of grass, next to some steps. Students don't call it "the beach," but I've been told to tell you to call it that in hopes of starting some sort of tradition. A few schools have places called "the beach," and we want one, too. Well, they want one. I could give a fuck.
We've arrived at the freshman dorms, where you will make friends with your whole floor for three weeks. Then you will realize the astronomical odds of 25 people being randomly selected to live with each other and getting along. Most of them will be dicks.
To the left are the sophomore dorms. That's where you'll live with your best friend from freshman year, who will turn out to be way messier than you expected. You'll hate them by November. Seriously, who pukes in a hamper?
To the right, the junior dorms. Finally, you'll be living with someone you like. In a cramped, crappy space because you will draw a terrible lottery number. Sorry, that's how it happens. Actually, I'm not sorry. I'm making minimum wage. They don't pay me enough to be sorry.
Beyond that hill are the senior "townhouses." If you stick it out with this place until senior year, your reward will be a run down "townhouse" that you will love because it's far from the freshmen. Who you will still try to bang, so you'll be hanging out at the freshman dorms anyway. Ah, Hakunah Matata.
Oh, see this spot? If you get kissed here, you'll get married, or some such bullshit campus legend. Yeah, and that 10×8 patch of grass is called "The Beach."
The last stop on our tour is the student union, which was recently renovated so that the school could sell space to chain restaurants. This is where you'll put on 10-15 pounds. It's also got wireless internet, which you can log on to if you just download the school's software package. The process will take eight days, and will allow administrators to monitor your computer usage in case any shit goes down. But they'll say it's to protect you.
Thanks for making me get out of bed at 8AM on a Saturday. Especially since this tour doesn't matter, because you're just going to go to the first school you visit where you think you'll get laid. I need some sleep.
We like you. Do you like us too?
Don't ask me again.