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UPDATE: I Held the Door Open for a Cute Guy at LaFun, He Did *Not* Say ‘Thanks,’ is Now on My Hit List

Mads here, reporting again, just like Carrie Bradshaw (I think—still not totally sure), back for round two. Last week I held the door open for a cute guy in LaFun and upon being met with the lovely response of “Thanks,” I was taken away into imagining a blissful future by his side, where everything seemed to go entirely to plan. However, this highly-sought-after second installment does not. 

That magical future is now dead.

What happened, you ask? Oh, I’ll tell you.

Of course, I’m walking into LaFun, looking to get some Starbucks in my system before hypothermia claimed another one of my organs, and who should be right behind me but the same cute, unknown guy. I could barely hear anything through the sound of my brain screaming, “FATE” over and over again (and my earmuffs), but I still knew what I had to do. I held the door open again and waited for what felt like an eternity for the same show of respect and love I had grown to expect from this nameless boy.

This time, however, was different. The callous fool did not say “Thanks” or even look me in the eyes. He just shuffled through the door and walked right past my shocked face. Sir, this is Notre Dame, and we say our please and thank you’s so often that it is a scandal when you do not. And furthermore, how could you do this to me? I thought we had something!

Well, let me inform you that Mads does not react well to being spurned. After this momentous event, I quickly took out my free Notre Dame planner that I received at the beginning of the year and added the description “tall, lanky white guy from LaFun” to my hit list.

Other people on this hit list are “that kid who was late to class and attempted to squeeze between a group of people talking in the halls in DeBart and then proceeded to hit me in the face with his backpack and apologize to the group talking and not to me,” “the Taco Bell worker who had the audacity to kick me out when I was crying eating a quesarito because it was closing time,” and “Gabe Ostler.”

I am still so appalled about this lack of simple courtesy that I am writing this blog post and hoping that this young man goes to confession. Forget the rose-colored future you flushed down the toilet when you had the audacity to make a mistake. Lent is coming up soon and that is, as we all know, a time for reflection before Easter. I pray that you, sir, reflect upon your actions.

I’ll admit, while I certainly say “thanks” to everyone who opens the door for me, I have my own, separate faults as well. There is a restraining order against me after I allegedly punched a girl at Domerfest who interrupted me while I was introducing myself to a separate tall, lanky white guy I had seen at the bookstore earlier that day. I have also yelled at a dining hall worker, and I might have accidentally annoyed my Uber driver to death by barraging him with my personal problems in between bouts of vomit on the way home from New Finnies.

But, as I said, at least I say “thanks” when a stranger opens the door for me.

And at least I * holding back sobs * know how to love.

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