Dear every person that has given me directions thus far,
I truly can’t tell you how appreciative I am of all the directions I’ve received… that have been completely not accurate. The first time it happened I figured the guy was just confused. The second time maybe the girl was also new here and just didn’t want to say so. That’s fine. Crippling social awkwardness is a trait I share as well, but it has since been made clear that this is some sick joke the entire campus is in on.
Another phase of this infinite part plan that I can only assume is called, “Yeah, fuck that guy,” was that after following the directions of a seemingly kind upperclassman, I arrived 30 minutes late to my class in Lamar. My journey had begun 40 minutes earlier at the Uunion. Thank you. Now I have to weigh if Grammy’s impending funeral is more important than having absences to use for when I have a complete mental breakdown from being surrounded by this many awful, awful people.
Sure, I’ve found a lot of interesting places through this dickery. Like, that rad eating area between the library and Weir or Hugh Freeze’s not at all creepy lair/shrine to the Mannings located beneath the center most tree in the Grove. But the downside is I’ve attended a cumulative 40 minutes of class so far.
So, when I ask you for directions, maybe just an apathetic shrug would be something you could toss at me instead of a wild goose chase for the holy grail of eat a dick.
Lost and Loathing,
P.S. – To the person who thought it would be funny to send me into that weird building behind Lamar that constantly billows smoke when I asked where the nearest restroom was: I inhaled something in there and now everything smells like radishes. I hate radishes.