I’m a Raving Bore


Let’s rewind to my freshman year – September 5th 2012 to be precise. It was the busiest day of Frosh week and I had attended a whopping half an hour out of the entire eleven-hour schedule.

Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy meeting new people – just not in forced program-specific groups, exchanging information about our hobbies and home countries. Unlike my enthusiastic fellow-froshies, I was the perfect blend of awkward and lazy. Group workshops, icebreakers and cheer competitions? I’ll pass.


For this reason, I decided to go only to the last event of the night – Apocalypta Pub or First Pub (which ever one it was called). Apart from the fact that I had friends attending, a party is, in my opinion, a better way to socialize.


So I curled my hair and put on a skirt and headed out to the Blind Duck with the few friends I’d made. I couldn’t wait to pump my fists to generic house music all night long.


The pub was packed with college stereotypes as expected (the newbies, the party animals, the bombshells, the dancers–you name it). Fluorescent lights bounced around as I squeezed my way into the crowd *cue universal party head-bob*.

To my utter dismay, there was actually no house music (not even Top 40 – just a DJ dropping the beat one too many times). My lack of enthusiasm made it hard to keep up with the constant wub-wub-wub coming from the speakers. As much as I tried to keep my energy going, I couldn’t (can you tell that I really don’t like dupstep?).

To top it off, the twerking, the bar, and the walls became painfully obvious once I stopped dancing.


I finally came to terms with the fact that I was bored.


By midnight, I retired my party animal façade. First Pub turned out to be nothing but a sweaty space filled with frisky teens discovering the human anatomy. I slipped my stilettoes off and walked back to Oscar Peterson Hall.

It turned out that not everyone had crippling FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) when I arrived – there were way more non-party goers than I expected.

As I walked through the hallways of the third floor, I came across a couple of others that shared my grief about First Pub. I smiled, knowing I wasn’t the only disappointed froshie.

When I arrived in my room, I jumped into my polka-dot onesie and collapsed onto my bed. I was back in my natural habitat.

I grabbed a bag of Zesty Cheese Doritos and spent the night re-watching Mean Girls.