Ranting and raving: an embittered look at welcome week

By in Culture

SAM SEXSMYTH
Arts Writer

I very much enjoy the first week of school, and it’s not because pick pocketing is so much easier.

No, I like the first week of school because I get to bitch about it to all my friends. C’mon let’s face it: nothing is more satisfying than agreeing to dislike something, right? Don’t you just hate it when someone likes what you dislike, right? Bleh, I hate that, right? Cool, me too, I just know we’re gonna be best friends.

There’s no shortage of things to dislike about the first week of school: long lines, construction detours, crowded halls, and the most aggravating of all, spontaneous chat bubbles. No, friends I don’t mean spamming text messages, I’m talkin’ about three or more people who run into other acquaintances in the middle of a walkway and decide to shoot the shit right then and there.

Once these spontaneous chat bubbles have formed they continue to grow with new passers-by, progressively being fueled by some lame need to be perceived as ”˜being social.’ The bubble is oblivious to the annoyed crowds squishing around its perimeter.

It grows and grows like a virus, because the larger the bubble the more social each individual in the bubble appears; sick right? Don’t you just hate it? The only vaccine is to pop that shit. I enjoy going through the middle at a speed-walker’s pace with my elbows thrusting out to my sides like pistons, sometimes I even leave a bit of exhaust in my wake; that gets things moving quickly.

The university is very much like a well-oiled machine with thousands of gauges, levers and tiny nuts and bolts all working together as one for the greater purpose of betterment through enlightenment. The problem is that during the first week of school some of these nuts are dressed like total sluts. One of my friends commented that he hasn’t seen this much thigh and side-boob since the last Miss Bust-Loose competition at the Overdrive. Although I wasn’t able to attend that particular contest (cat had a bladder infection), I tend to agree with him.

Just yesterday afternoon I overheard someone ask the Information Centre where the shooter bar was located; actually I can’t be too sure of that since I was really hammered at the time (sad because cat died).

““Just yesterday afternoon I overheard someone ask the Information Center where the shooter bar was located; actually I can’t be too sure of that since I was really hammered at the time (sad because cat died).”

That said, the seasons certainly could influence our moods. Much like Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), where whiny people get whinier in the winter, each specific season impacts the way we socially interact. Don’t you hate when acronyms are clever? SAD, pffft, get over yourself. Anyhow, allow me to inform you of the Seasonal Effectiveness X-change (SEX).

Let’s start with the Winter Freeze. This season puts most relationships in a state of hibernation. If you’re seeing someone you likely won’t break up in the winter and if you’re not seeing anyone, then enjoy the single life because there’s not much out there.

Next comes the Great Spring Break-up. School is out and couples are restless and torn apart by diverging paths, lack of interest or pregnancy scares. This paves the way for the season of Summer Flings; a festive time full of fancy and frolic, and although these friendships are frequently fleeting, legend has it that some summer sparks are never snuffed out. Don’t you just hate cheesy alliterations? Eww, right?

Now we’ve come full circle and are currently experiencing Fall, The Long Haul. We’ve got a crazy long winter just ahead of us and we don’t want to be stuck in the lurch before the Winter Freeze, so people go whizzing about like molecules randomly colliding and fusing together. The problem is that some of these molecules are super slutty.

You know what? It shouldn’t even matter because by next week they simply won’t have enough time to turn the U of S halls into a fashion catwalk and their classrooms into some bad amateur porno scene, which means everyone is going to be wearing sweat pants and bitching about the 70 essays and 300 mid-terms they have coming up — gahhh, I hate that crap. Right?