Messing with the new freshmen: the plottings of a mad JYA-er

I’ve come to the realization that it’s possible no one at Vassar knows I’m gone. I don’t mean this in a self-pitying Charlie Brown kind of way—I mean it more in the same way that Miley Cyrus lives a double life as Hannah Montana. Here’s the situation: you go abroad, Vassar marks you as “away”. But really, except for a few friends and the already kind-of-dead flowers I left to fend for themselves in my old room, I could have gone anywhere! I could be “away” because I recently befriended Lindsay Lohan and am nursing a burgeoning addiction to unfortunate bathroom selfies. Vassar’s incredibly vague organizing system for students is perfect; there is a whole class of people (hey, 2016, how ya doin?) who probably barely know I exist. After Founder’s Day they DEFINITELY won’t remember, because their brains will be filled with glitter and beer. This includes administrators. (You know D.B. Brown gets down.) The point is, I’m taking advantage of my questionable existence next fall, and this is how. Totes getting the best of both worlds, amiright Miley?

1. I am going to pretend to be a freshman on move-in day.

The class of 2016 (hey again, guys) are destined for greatness, and by greatness I mean some of them will have to be on House Team. Because they have to be on House Team, they will have to stand outside in mid-August and move heavy boxes upstairs while simultaneously convincing parents that this is not a breeding ground for immorality and their child will not come home a Satan-worshiper (it is and we make no promises). I only spent a semester with the current freshmen, and they probably have no idea who I am because for the last semester they have been too worried about the state of North Korea and whether or not UpC is going to have any yogurt for their smoothies to think about absentee juniors. This is where my many years of playing logic games (losing to my brother at chess) comes in. I’m unknown, the new freshman are unknown, and if I show up at Main Building with a car full of stuff insisting that I am a new freshman living in the THs because not living in a house makes me break out in a funny rash, they will have to move me in. Thanks, everyone, I really didn’t want to carry my collection of life-sized hippo figurines up the stairs of my TH all by myself.

2. I am going to foster mass confusion by joining random fellow groups.

This doesn’t actually get me anything fun or assist me in any way, except for the fact that I’ll enjoy messing with the minds of incoming freshmen. I’m really not anti-freshman (mostly), but how fun would it be to convince a group of people that you are a nervous, narcoleptic glue-sniffer who thinks they are a teen wolf and howls to the moon for the death of the patriarchy? Answer: it would be really, really fun. Bonus points if you carry Crystal Palace around in a plastic water bottle on hot days, and lecture the surprised people on the negative environmental impact of disposable water bottles as they spit out the “water” they just sipped.

3. I am going to hang out in the basement of Rocky at night and convince as many students as possible that I’m just a homeless woman who takes shelter there.

My freshman year, wandering into the basement Rocky at night for what are now unknown reasons, I ran into a man sitting on the ground by the water fountain and muttering to himself (or possibly really rocking out to Baba O’Riley by The Who, I still can’t decide if I imagined that). His clothes were pretty shabby, his only jacket was a flannel that had definitely seen better days, and he hadn’t shaved or showered for at least a month (granted, it was towards the end of No-Shave November). I am, to this day, not positive whether he was homeless, or a senior having a minor mental breakdown over his thesis. Rocky is never locked, so it’s totally possible that he was just taking shelter for the night. It’s also possible I was a little drunk and I saw a weird piece of modern art and thought it was a homeless man. Regardless, it seems important that I provide this same surreal moment for some unsuspecting Vassar student next year. Preferably by dressing solely in Vassar College Bookstore plastic bags and strategically placed solo cups, à la the Anything But Clothes Villard Room night, while playing Ashlee Simpson’s “Invisible” loudly over the speakers on my Blackberry (because I think the Blackberry is homeless chic and also my parents won’t let me own an iPhone, which seems weird to me because, as proved by this article, I am totally responsible!?!?!).

Given the unlikely chance that people from Vassar actually remember me upon my return to Poughkeepsie, city of dreams, I’m completely willing to just go back to Italy and wait around casually in various European cities until people forget about me. Seriously, I’ll make that sacrifice.

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