Spring has arrived and so has a new generation of Vassar students. As newly admitted students swarmed the campus and the Deece (I was exiled to the second floor), I realized a gift I could bestow unto these soon-to-be college newbies: a bit of advice. I’m almost done with my first year of college and therefore an unquestionable and omniscient source of information on college. Since everyone is clearly begging for it, and I’m sure every first-year will make sure to use the humor section of The Miscellany News to prepare for their first year at college, here is my advice to incoming Vassar first-years.
- Don’t leave out of the middle door of the Deece
You might be asking yourself, “What is the Deece?” Now, because you’re already thinking of the word Deece, you’re one step ahead of where I was on my first week here. Just in case you happen to be as dumb as I was (I hope not), it is under no circumstances called the Deez. Do not text your student fellow asking her where to meet in the Deez. Do not let yourself fall for crude jokes about the quote-unquote Deez. Even though you’re in college, middle-school humor is above no one, and the jokes that a five-foot sixth-grade boy in an all-neon outfit (including the shoes) would make are the exact same jokes that adults will make when you say Deez. Okay, now that we have the name down, let me explain the Deece door situation. You see, every castle has doors and a drawbridge—serfs and lords. Well, in the Deece, you are a serf. You live on a tiny plot of land and can only mumble out two words: “my lord.” These are also the words that will come out of any other student’s mouth when you choose to make a fatal error: leaving through the middle door of the Deece. The middle door of the Deece is an entrance-only portal. It is not an egress. When you choose to leave through that door, you make it incredibly hard for everyone else to get in. You block traffic like a family of ducks crossing the highway. Just don’t do it. You’re not that guy. You didn’t just object to a wedding and tell the whole audience that the couple in question is actually just two robots in blond toupees, so you have no right to make a dramatic exit. Leave out of the side doors, like the plebian you are.
- You can’t escape shrimp
At Vassar, shrimp are ubiquitous. The Deece innovators are creative people, but their one true talent is the ability to put shrimp in everything. You may think, “It’s not possible. Not every dish can have shrimp in it.” Not true, my fresh friend. At Vassar, shrimp are like the bagel in “Everything, Everywhere All At Once”: they’re everything. And they’re everywhere. Sandwich wrap? Shrimp. Pasta? Shrimp. Pizza? Shrimp. Caesar salad? You bet there will be shrimp. I don’t understand how there is so much shrimp, but you just can’t fight it. You must submit to this crustacean-crowded campus. Maybe President Bradley made an arrangement with the FDA to do a study on the impacts of shrimp, and it was in a tiny clause in your agreement to attend Vassar. But you didn’t read it, and now, you’re doomed to shrimp for life. Maybe there was an alien abduction, and the aliens really took up an adoration for shrimp cocktail while attending state dinners. But about one hour after the saucer left New York City, one of the aliens accidentally put the shrimp down the trash chute, effectively dumping the precious shrimp onto this campus. All I know is that Vassar’s true Guinness World Record isn’t for the longest unsupported tree branch, it’s for the highest amount of shrimp per capita in the world (take that, ocean).
- Constant Circus
There is one club at this school that never stops. It’s Barefoot Fireflies, Vassar’s circus club. What I’ve observed over the course of this year defies all logic. Despite the time of day I leave from or return to my dorm, Barefoot Fireflies is always practicing on the Quad. Rain, snow, earthquake—nothing stops them. It’s like they’re married to the performance. In sickness and in health, till death do them part, the Barefoot Fireflies will be practicing on the Quad. Even God rested on the seventh day, but not the Barefoot Fireflies. They should seriously be hired by the government or something. They’d probably work great as an impenetrable army with ridiculous stamina. If this country devolves into civil war, forget the side with the most guns or the most brainwashed citizens; the side with the Barefoot Fireflies will win. They’re like WonderBread or roaches; when the world explodes, they’ll survive. I’m starting to think they’re all just holograms, and if I just swipe at one of them, they’ll all disappear. Or maybe they were my own hallucinations all along.
- Don’t take the Rocky elevator
This one’s brief. Basically, that elevator has not been updated since the Industrial Revolution, and if you have good luck like me, you’ll get stuck in it alone for about a minute and see your life flash in front of your own eyes. Plus, taking the stairs is something you’ll certainly have to get used to, especially if you live in Raymond. It’s good exercise, and when you leave for the summer, you will have Megan Knees.
If, on the off chance, you actually are an incoming first-year reading this, in all seriousness, I wish you the best. You’re going to need it if you ever want to figure out how to get to your class in Blodgett (pro-tip: every floor has at least four floors) or survive a lifetime of DuoMobile (you’re literally not authentic). I hope you have a great first year, assuming the shrimp don’t plan an uprising.